Car Story

I'm doing it again folks. Writing a multi-part story. Except this time, it doesn't have anything to do with having a baby (thank goodness). But you know, whatever. I'm feeling kinda goofy. I did drink Diet Coke today so you better watch out. I'm not usually caffeinated although I kinda like it.  Here we go....    

Car Story, Part One


For a time, we were a four car family. Well, lets back up. For a time, we were a two car family—as is standard in Middle America. I’ve always dreamed of living in a place where we could be a one car family but alas, this is not 'I’m-So-Awesome-‘Cause-I-Live-in-a-Big-City-Story'. That will never be our story. Sigh. I’m OK with that because I love our life, but I’m not going to lie, I watch Sex and the City a lot these days and day dream more than I care to admit about expensive high heels and taxis. Anyways, our car story had, for the entire span of our 3 ¾ year marriage, previously consisted of a 1995 Cutlass Sierra Oldsmobile and 2001 Plymouth Neon. 

We were getting to a point in our relationship with the said cars where long car rides were no longer a good idea and where the Mrs. of the family profusely complained when having to ride in the Olds (which she often called The Buick for reasons unknown).  

This is mostly because a.) The passenger side door did not open from the outside b.) It had automatic windows that usually got stuck when in the down position which was especially problematic because c.) It did not have a working air conditioner and we live in one of the hottest areas of the country.  Furthermore,  d.) The engine frequently over-heated despite the Mr.’s repeated attempts to play mechanic.  


Yet the Neon was no dream, either.

It didn’t really like going over 70 as it would get all shaky and feel like it might fall apart. Also, the Neon was not manly enough for the Mr. as it was rather small and had no vroom.  Those cars probably would have been driven to their pending deaths if it weren’t for the fact that both the Mr. and the Mrs. felt leery of driving a wee one (whose arrival was imminent) around in either car.

The time came when enough money had been saved to make some car adjustments. After some Craig’s Listing, we found the family sedan of our dreams.  2007 Toyota Camry, baby. Oh yeah.  Around the same time, we acquired an Acura with significant body damage, just as many years as the Olds, but with many more miles.  We snatched it because it was $800 and in much better mechanical shape.  Plus leather seats and a moon roof.  Holla! (No, I did not just misspell hola).  We were in car heaven.  Things were really working out.

We had plans of doing some more Craig’s Listing (only in the opposite direction) and getting back to our two car family status. Only we moved. And then had a baby. And then had the holidays. Plus it gets dark so early in the winter. Suddenly, being a four car family was much easier than being a two car one, especially since our new house had a very spacious drive way that made having some extra vehicles no big deal.  As a result, we were a four car family for way too long. About seven months, actually.     

The Mr. made some meager attempts at selling the Olds, but no one was biting. Well, one person kept biting every time the ad was posted. He would always explain how he used to have that very same car (which he dearly loved), only it was recently totaled and his insurance company was only offering him X amount of money to replace it, which was several hundred dollars less than our asking price. Yet this man never asked to come see it and never made Brandon an offer. The conversation always awkwardly fizzled out.  He was still out his car and we were still stuck with ours.

Then, when the Mrs. was ready to momentarily leave the new baby to prepare the Neon for market, the battery was dead. Of course. When the battery was replaced, the wrong size battery was installed. When the engine started, wires were crossed and there was a lot of smoke. When the correct battery was installed, the car still started, but the check-engine light still came on. And the radio didn’t work. Grr. It was ultimately determined that the alternator now needed replacing. The Mr. gave it an honest–to-goodness attempt to fix the problem, but quickly discovered that a Neon's alternator is apparently in the most awkward and cumbersome place ever and then decided that wasting a Saturday gathering the know-how and the supplies for an alternator.  Phew. The Mr. did some Googling and found a local mechanic who seemed affordable, likely because he was the greasiest, tannest, skinniest, pot-smokiest, talkiest, Vietnam vet who ever did work out of his double wide trailer (but he was really cheap). 

Part Two: To Market to Market

Baby Aftermath, Part Three

OK--this is the last blog about this topic!!  

Also, the more I think about it, the more I think that personal medical experiences are so intriguing. We all have them or will at some point in our lives--childbirth, a broken bone, an illness, getting your gallbladder removed. They cause us such discomfort and disruption and the stories themselves are filled with gnarly, sometimes unbelievable details.  And then, for most of us, they heal and then we forget.  Anyways...      

Part Three

I made steady improvements in short amounts of time, even though I often didn’t notice until Brandon or my mom pointed out a new accomplishment that I wasn’t able to do the day before. The first 48 hours were the worst and then the first week was a close second. By the end of the second week, however, I was able to do most everything without Brandon's help. A month later, my family still noticed that I hobbled everywhere. I was able to take short walks in my neighborhood, although I was usually pretty sore the next day. 

During those first few weeks, I tried not to use the internet as my doctor (I didn’t want to get lured into forums of people trying to freak each other out with their grizzly physical ailments). Yet in a fit of despair, I couldn't resist the pull of the world wide web and ended up Googling my symptoms.  I ended up in some panic-inducing forums but I also found descriptions for Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction and Pelvic Girdle Pain. Each accurately summed up my experience and helped me to know I was not the only one with postpartum back and hip issues. 

When my six week OB follow-up appointment rolled around, I was adamant that I see my doctor rather than the nurse practitioner,as was standard. I went in, hoping that I would explain my symptoms to her and she would say, "Hmm...it sounds like you have a classic case of Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction" and then tell me how crucial it was for me to do XY&Z.  But instead, she just nodded her head over and over. She was sympathetic but just explained that sacroiliac issues are fairly common. She also recommended a physical therapist but her reaction made me realize that I wasn't going to die or be permanently maimed.  I decided to push myself in my walks and give it more time.  I also decided that if I was still pretty hindered after 6 months, then I might take her up on the physical therapy recommendation.  

And that was exactly the right approach.  After about two months, the waddle was gone and I was no longer as sore after my walks, even the longer ones.  I even took Russell on his first hike, carrying him in a Bjorn.  Now, I have only small remnants of those crazy sacroiliac issues. I have some days where my right hip is achy, mornings where my lower back hurts when I wake up, and instances where my back and hips tighten if I've been in a certain position for too long and I wince and groan as I straighten myself out again. I don't know how ready I am to do any major hikes but I've been able to incorporate some running into my walks without any major consequence (other than being short of breath!). The small bits of pain I still have pales in comparison to the daily aches that many have all the time. Chronic pain is something I hope to never experience.  It really is debilitating both in body and in spirit.

  

In other words, the tincture of time really was really the trick. When I was in the thick of my discomfort, time moved so slowly. In hindsight, I can clearly see how quickly I healed although it certainly didn’t feel like that was happening. While I may have had something like Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction or Pelvic Girdle Pain, it didn't really change what I needed to do--give it time and gradually push myself.   

Fortunately, I look back on those first few weeks of Russell's life with fondness. We made the most of getting to know our new baby and relished in the fact that we had a beautiful and perfect little son. Nothing, not even some discomfort, was going to change that.        

Baby Aftermath, Part Two

Thanks for reading so far...these posts probably venture into the 'over-sharing' category and I normally cringe when I see others do this.  I'm also not doing this to glorify how bad I had it...I also don't want to freak people out, especially those that may be pregnant. You'll be fine! I don't really have a good explanation for these posts other than I just felt the need to write out and share the story. 

Part Two

Looking back, one of the saddest things was that I didn't hold Russell much during those first few days—Brandon changed every single one of his meconium poops. Not because I didn’t want to, but simply because I was so out of it and so unable to, that they just came and went. The only times I really held him were when we were trying to breastfeed, which was a whole other ordeal that could likely be another three-part blog. Even trying to breastfeed (you just sit there and hold your baby!) was terribly uncomfortable. As I worked with the lactation specialist, I remember pain just radiating down my legs and throughout my pelvis.  Just as Russell would be making progress with eating, I would have to shift positions. I wanted so badly to focus on him, but sometimes couldn't get past the throbbing.    

Luckily, Russell was very easy going those first few days.  He slept a lot and never cried. He had quite the cone head, a big bruise on his noggin, and wasn't too interested in eating or socializing--the nurses said he was recovering from the delivery as well. In fact, when the nurses described what Russell was going through, they would preface their comments with, "Babies that have traumatic births..." What?! That actually was a fairly traumatic thing to hear and they kept saying it over and over. It seemed like his his birth was fairly ordinary... there was no c-section and he didn't have to go to the ICU, etc.  He just got a little stuck.  

During our stay in the hospital, Brandon, my parents, my doctor, and the nurses took great care of me. I was impressed by the quality of care we received. I have a whole new level of respect for nurses and medical assistants. I would never want their jobs! Everyone believed me and did whatever necessary to help; no one told me to suck it up and most importantly, no one made me feel like a burden. That would have made those first few days unmanageable. Furthermore, everyone was really proactive about trying to figure out what was causing me the pain as it had become obvious that I was having some out of the ordinary experiences.   

Initially, the medical staff thought either the epidural was to blame or that my tail bone had broken during delivery. After some check-ups, it was evident none of that had happened. I was nonetheless offered x-rays and the doctors and nurses suggested bumping up my meds to Oxycontin, but I passed knowing neither would get me what I wanted—long term relief and mobility! Once we understood that nothing was grossly wrong, the tincture of time became the prescription. That actually became our inside joke as each specialist that saw either Russell or me said, "It's just going to be the tincture of time." Who knew that such a phrase was so rampant.  

Both my doctor and the physical therapist who came to consult on my case said that the ligaments in my sacroiliac joint had loosened and weakened, making it much harder for that crucial joint to support me (see the sections on signs and symptoms and pregnancy in the link). 

Those ligaments naturally stretch and loosen during pregnancy to help the body adjust to the new weight from the baby. For some reason, those ligaments went totally bonkers in me, possibly because the pushing stage of delivery lasted about 2 1/2 hrs. That made sense as all my pain seemed to be radiating out from the sacroiliac area. I was told that those ligaments just needed time to heal, just as an athlete might take some time off after a bad muscle tear. My doctor suggested I stay an additional day in the hospital--this suggestion was a huge relief as the thought of going home was inducing panic. I still couldn't walk to the bathroom alone, and that was just a few steps away. How was I going to move through our much larger house?  

A few hours later, we also learned that Russell needed an extra day too—the bruising on his head had caused his bilirubin to rise and he needed some bili light treatment. 

That extra day made all the difference.  I began to force myself to get out of bed more frequently and to do things on my own, even though it was often slow and painful. I was starting to understand what hurt the most (shifting weight) and how important it was to keep on top of the pain medication. That helped me know what to expect and how to problem solve. Furthermore, the pain was decreasing. Although it was in small increments, it was enough to start doing more and for longer stretches. That last day was actually the most exciting.  The skies were clearing and we knew it was only going to get better.  

We had checked in the hospital around 8:00pm on a Wednesday and didn't leave until about 4:30 pm on a Monday. When the time finally came to leave, we were so ready. We couldn't wait to be home with our baby.  Putting Russell in his first outfit was marvelous. This was our son! I don't know if I had ever felt so fortunate. 

Nonetheless, that first week home was hard.  Part of it was definitely learning how to parent a new baby who didn't like to eat and liked to scream from 2-4 in the morning. Yet Brandon and I were prepared for that part. We knew babies weren't easy and we still chose to be parents.  We very much wanted Russell.  We did a great job figuring out Russell's needs and never let ourselves get overwhelmed by the unpredictability of the newborn lifestyle. We laughed a lot and reveled in the wonder of it all. Most of the difficulty was my stupid pain as I continued to need help getting in and out of bed, standing up from the sofa, and getting in the car. Brandon handled everything like a champ.  He never showed any frustration, concern, or exhaustion. If he ever was any of those things, he never showed it and deserves the big gold medal for Best Husband Ever.

Basic things like sitting up in the morning, putting on my pants, going up a stair, and walking took a lot of effort and a lot of time. Laying in bed was one of the most uncomfortable things, especially since I no longer had the hospital bed to raise up and down and an endless supply of pillows to position around me. I tried sleeping in our bed, in the guest bed, the sofa, and even the floor. Often when I finally got positioned, I would then hear and feel my lower back and pelvis shifting around--it was like the sensation you get when you turn to crack your back on a chair, except x100, in a different area, and without me trying to do that. 

I remember trying to run errands and feeling so defeated; getting in the car was painful, the vibrations from the car aggravated my back and hips, and walking from my car to the store was more than I could bear. I was exhausted before I began. On several occasions, I actually used the motorized carts and didn't feel one bit guilty. It was pretty comical, actually. I also considered using handicap parking spaces but ultimately didn't because I didn't want to pay fines if I was caught.  In hindsight, it seems silly that I even ran errands during that time as Brandon would have gladly done them, but I remember wanting to get things done, wanting to work back my independence, and wanting to prepare myself for when Brandon went back to work. It was just going to be a matter of time before I’d have to do it all on my own anyway.  

Part Three to contain: The tincture of time

Baby Aftermath, Part One

I'm tempted to write a little Juggalo 101 so you can all understand Brandon's last post...but I'm not really in the mood.  Just know that Juggalos are groupies to the band Insane Clown Posse (ICP) and we laugh, groan, and even lament that whole subculture a lot in this house.

But instead, I'm feeling the need to gather some thoughts about some of my postpartum experiences and thought I would do it here since many have asked me questions about it.  I’m going to divide this post up to make it more bearable and not so long. I’ve already written everything so you don’t have to worry about me saying ‘more on this later’ and then never getting back to the topic. I’m the queen of that sort of thing. I’m also going to try to make this fairly benign…I’m not going to mention the word uterus, vagina, dilation, placenta, etc anywhere except for in this very sentence.  And that’s not because I’m too squeamish to do so but because a.) my husband has heard those words way too many times in the past year and I’m going to spare him and because b.) this is a postpartum story, not a birth story. So here we go…  

Part One

Childbirth is a really crazy thing.  I'd go through it again in a heartbeat.  And yet, I've been surprised on the toll it took on my body.  The main thing that happened--the thing that totally caught me off guard, was that my lower back, hips, and pelvis took a pretty serious beating. I'm fairly sure it all happened during the delivery process although some of the reading I've done suggests that certain hormones (relaxin and progesterone) were probably doing some of it throughout the pregnancy.  

The process of laboring that little baby was a long one...from the time my water broke to the time he was born was about 37 hours.  The final 4 were the most dramatic, with the final 2 ½ being the most physically intensive. Needless to say, everyone was exhausted by the time Russell made it. After the commotion of his arrival had quelled, our new little family was transferred to our recovery room and we finally got the opportunity to rest. Brandon had the nurses take our baby to the nursery so we could get a few hours of much needed sleep. I slept for 2-3 hours and woke to the most excruciating pain. At first I could not tell what was what...where was I feeling the pain?  Was it pain or just the sensation of the epidural wearing off?  Was supposed to be feeling this way?  I had, after all, just delivered an 8lb 10z baby.   

I still don't know how much of what I was feeling was normal, but I was in pain and it was both awful and scary. I couldn't sit up, move my legs, switch positions in bed, let alone get out of bed without yelping in pain.  My hips were sawing into my muscles and my tail bone was stabbing me...it felt as if I was a dried out tree branch and any sort of movement would potentially snap off my limbs. Getting out of bed was a nightmare; the nurse and Brandon moved me because I couldn't do it myself.  Shifting my weight made me cry out in pain and I was terrified of moving because I knew all subsequent movement would bring agony.  The anticipation of pain was almost as bad as the pain itself. When finally standing, I couldn't support myself and again needed the nurse, Brandon, and sometimes even a medical assistant, to help me.  

Getting to the bathroom was quite the challenge. For a normal person, it was about five steps away. For me, it was about a 15 minute team effort. In the bathroom, I couldn't even sit on the toilet...I had never been so helpless.  Getting back into bed and getting comfortable again was another team effort.  I think I swore, screamed, whimpered, cried, and then begged for pain medicine.  I didn't do any of that during the actual birth...I postponed the epidural for as long as possible, shed only a few tears, and kept pretty good composure during those long hours.  But this, this was something else.     

That intense level of discomfort continued for about another 48 hours.  It took a while for people to understand that the pain wasn't coming from my lady part areas but was instead in my lower back and hips. We finally got into a routine of pain medication--rotating between the maximum doses of Percocet and ibuprofen. The meds made the pain somewhat manageable, but I still couldn't get in and out of bed or go to the bathroom by myself, and definitely noticed when I was due for another dose.  Walking around our little room took all my effort--sometimes even to the point of getting dizzy and almost fainting--but the nurses wanted me to do it periodically to help the recovery process.  I dreaded getting out of bed and would postpone it for as long as possible, which then created its own set of problems, as I couldn't manage the pain and hold my bladder at the same time...it was humiliating.  I remember tears just streaming down my face on multiple times because everything was just so hard.      

Part Two to Contain: Figuring out the pain and going home 

You Can't Argue With This

4 Months

Fat Baby Alert!

Russell is four months today and these past months are among the happiest of my life.  He is growing so quickly; each new thing he does is met with our amazement and joy.  Last night he was in his bouncer, grabbing toes with one hand and reaching for a toy dangling above him with the other.  He looked a tad ridiculous as his giant belly kept getting in the way and he kept making silly grunting sounds in an effort to maintain his position.  I watched him do that for about 20 minutes--I was doing a crossword puzzle at the same time, but I know I spent more time looking at Russell than I did figuring out clues. He is starting to let out strange giggles--bursts of happy sounds that are on their way to becoming laughter.  

As amazing as all of these little tricks are, I admit that I get a little sad when he outgrows an outfit or a behavior.  I am eager about upcoming milestones but also a little hesitant because I'm not quite ready to let other stages go.  For instance, one of my favorite things is swaddling him and holding him while he sleeps.  I know he will soon not like that and I know I will miss that when it passes.  He already loves to stand up in our laps or be held in a sitting position, facing outward.  He is not a snuggly baby!  It is now a  matter of a few short months before he is sitting on his own and spending less time in our arms.  Perhaps being a slightly older new parent has made me relish these things a bit more--I know how quickly time passes.  Babies really aren't babies for very long.    

Of course I will continue to fawn over each new thing and text Brandon throughout the day about his newest accomplishment; each new stage will have its magic.  Shortly after Russell was born I was having a similar conversation with my mom and she told me that each of the stages that we were in were her favorite--she loved it when we were babies and she loved it when we were teenagers.  I remind myself of her words each time I feel a little twang of sadness that my little baby is growing faster than I ever realized was possible.  This parenthood thing is quite the gift because as much as I have a hard time believing it, the best is yet to come. 

Movin' on Out

We finally put Russell into his own room two nights ago. We've had the crib for awhile and it has even been set up, waiting for him, for about month now. Russell has been sleeping through the night (7-8 hr stretches) for a good month and even several weeks before that, he was sleeping 4-5 hr stretches at a time. Furthermore, his room is right across the hallway from us--we can pretty much see him from the doorway of our room. Keeping him in our room has certainly not been about convenience.

In fact, keeping him in our room has been a little inconvenient as he is the noisiest sleeper ever. I probably would have gotten much better sleep if I put him in his crib shortly after he was born. He grunted through the first month and a half of his life--grunts so loud (all while sleeping) that Brandon often took him out of the room and slept with him on the couch because I couldn't relax with all that noise. He also went through this phase where he took forever to wake up. He would toss and turn, make grunts, whimpers, and sighs--usually while rubbing his face with his hands and turning his head from side to side. It looked like his is trying to gouge out his eyes with his hands. We never really understood it but he'd do that for like 45 minutes. I got up many times to check on him, and he was always fast asleep, just loud and restless. And lately, he'll flat out cry in his sleep. Not for long, but just long enough for us to get up to get him, only to find him back to sleeping quietly.

For the past few weeks, he has also been more susceptible to our noises. He'll start to stir as Brandon gets up for work and when I'm up late, I have to tiptoe into the bedroom so as not to wake the babe.

But, despite all those issues we just couldn't part with him. Actually, it was probably me than 'we' but I know Brandon liked having him in the room too. Some nights I just laid (no idea if that is the right conjugation) in bed and happily listened to the sleep sounds of both Brandon and Russell. "This is our family!" I would think. In one of my more irrational moments, I thought, "Those Africans in their one room huts have it right--they all get to sleep in the same room all the time." After that thought leaked, I felt like an idiot on so many different levels, but the point was that I loved having Russell near us.

But finally, the time has come to put him in the crib. Mostly because he outgrew the bassinet that Sam and Sharon lent us. One morning before the big move, I head him tossing and turning and actually heard his hands batting against the sides of the bassinet. When I looked at him, his head was practically rubbing the top edge of the bassinet and there wasn't much leg room anymore. He just looked up at me and gave me the biggest smile and I thought, "Ok ok, you can give me that big smile in your crib--I don't need to cramp your style anymore." Anyways, he's been cribbin' it for 2 nights now and everyone is doing fine. (In case you were worried).

A few weeks old

A little over 3 months!