Pickle's World: 2011

Mr. Lufkin and I have decided to take the 10 Days of Real Food
challenge (see www.100daysofrealfood.com). In a nutshell, the goal is
to eat only real food: not processed, avoiding additives, eating foods
we can pronounce...etc. It's simple but hard. Who'd have thought
buying real, actual, whole food would be so challenging?? Our farm
fresh delivery comes Thursday, but I went ahead and headed out
yesterday for some produce to have before then, as well as real food
variations of our normal groceries.
Yikes.
It was not easy. Or cheap.
My visit was to Pogue's Run Grocer, a co-op on 10th St. It's tiny, but
packed with tons of cool stuff. My favorite was the wall of dried
goods, ready for self-serve bagging & weighing. Mmmmm.

Some parts of shopping were easy: we already get a lot of salad stuff,
fruit, and beans. Other staples were harder. Like unprocessed peanut
butter (pricey!!!), hummus (making your own is easy, but again, tahini
is pricey!!), bread (almost 4 times what we normally pay), and pasta
(we eat a lot of packaged flavored pasta that we add veggies & fake
meat to. No more).

Meat will probably be the hardest for us. Actual meat in my case,
since I'm not a vegetarian. I buy deli meat and make sandwiches for
the workweek. Meat is allowed on the 'plan,' but it should be local,
organic, fresh & unprocessed. Which is great, but hard!
In Scott's case, fake meat is very processed so we're trying to avoid
that all together.
It's kind of a wake up call that eating real food is considered a
'plan' or a special way of eating instead of how we eat all the time.
How sad. In fact, the 100 Days of Real Food website has a guide and a
lot of helpful articles about how to eat real food- which I
desperately needed, because I (a d lots of other people) don't know
how!! Hopefully we'll make permanent changes after this, and figure
out a way to do it without getting a second mortgage.
&hearts;

Amanda

Sent from my iPhone

Ever since Poppy was born, I knew I wanted to sit down and take time to write about the experiences of that day. Even though it's corny and ridiculous- and I'm actually mocking myself as I type it- it was a magical day. No one can prepare you for how amazing it is.
On New Year's Eve, we had a couple of friends over for cards and snacks. Being nine months pregnant, I was not in the mood for any further partying than that. I was surprised that night, though, at the amount of energy I had. I actually stayed up until almost 3 am (!!!) with everyone else, although I was laying on the couch watching them play rock band at that point and not really participating. I felt great, I wasn't having too many Braxton-Hicks contractions (which I'd been having for months), and my stomach wasn't feeling as bad as it sometimes could (due to the lack of room for food).
The next morning, contractions woke me up around 11. This was not unusual, and normally my contractions were irregular and would go away (as is the nature of B-H contractions). But I felt different and weird this morning. The contractions kept coming. Scott started timing them (with his fancy contraction timer app on his phone- downloaded during Lamaze class. I made fun of him at the time, but that thing was handy!) and we found that they were coming about 3 minutes apart. Since I was only 37weeks, we thought this may be a false alarm. I had a gut feeling that she was going to come that day, but I wasn't sure if it was really a gut feeling or just wishful thinking since I was beyond ready to have this baby.
Scott called our doula, Carrie, and I called my mom. I also left a message for my doctor since the contractions were still coming regularly, now closer to 2 minutes apart. I felt horrible. Many thoughts were going through my mind, including:
1. This sucks. If this isn't first stage labor, then the next 3 weeks of pregnancy are going to be absolutely horrible and this is sick and wrong. (I didn't say my thoughts were deep.)
2. If this is the first stage of labor, why aren't I smiling? I distinctly remember the lady pictured in my "Joy of Motherhood" book smiling. I fetch the book and confirm that she is, indeed, smiling. In fact, the book goes on to say that in early labor, contractions aren't super painful yet and the mother is usually excited, happy, and anticipatory. These were all vicious, vicious lies. I felt like death.
3. The fact that I was so different from the lady in the "Joy of Motherhood" made me think something was wrong. Perhaps I had a lower tolerance for pain than I thought? Perhaps this isn't labor but my body rebelling against the (very delicious) spicy chicken dip I'd consumed the night before? Perhaps I'm dying? (Not to be morbid, but the thought "I believe I'm dying" kept crossing my mind and, if I remember correctly, I kept asking Scott if he also thought I was dying, or if I was the only one. For some reason he didn't think I was dying.)
The doctor called back and told me to go to the hospital to get monitored. I packed my bags because I felt sure I was going to have this baby. And I figured if I didn't have this baby, I could talk them into 1) taking the baby out or 2) letting me stay at the hospital under extreme sedation until I had the baby (at the time, I had great confidence that hospital staff could be pursuaded of these things).
Around the time we were preparing to leave, I started to throw up. Let me be clear: I. Hate. To throw up. And no, an entire trimester and a half of being ill did not desensitize me to the horror of throwing up. At this point, added to my thoughts above was:
4. Well, this proves it. I am dying. The "Joy of Motherhood" only talks about vomiting during late stage labor. I'm either dying or I'm actually in late stage labor and this baby is going to pop out any minute.
*Note: I think it should be mentioned that I'm not a total idiot. While reading the "Joy of Motherhood" in my more lucid moments, I understood that every labor is different and that the book merely serves as a (highly useful) guide to indicate what is average. However, in my non-lucid moments of horrifying pain, I was convinced that every difference between my labor and the labor described was proof of impending death.
The ride to the hospital was awful. It was a total cliche, I was clutching the dashboard and yelling "slow down!!" to Scott who was driving perfectly reasonably. Every pothole and stoplight made me want to kill all of humanity.
They were ready for us at triage. They checked me in and put me on a monitor. Yep, they confirmed there were contractions at regular intervals. I wasn't interested- I could have told them there were contractions at regular intervals (and I did tell them. For some reason they still insist on confirming with actual medical equipment. I don't get it.) The only thing I was interested in was ice water. Oh, water. I love water. I was fantasizing about water. And, of course, they wouldn't let me have it until they confirmed I was ok. New thought:
5. Why is the hospital involved in an evil plot to keep me from drinking water? Do they want me to die? Do they figure I'm so close to death anyway I don't need water??? Don't they want my last moments to be spent in comfort? Why can't I have water? WHY CAN'T I HAVE WATER????
Shortly after confirming I was "ok," they brought me water and ice chips. Scratch thought #5.
I was still continuously throwing up. They didn't have time to bring me a basin so the trash can next to my hospital bed was working quite nicely. In addition to throwing up, I was also calling for the nurses a lot and asking (only a couple of times...) if, in their medical opinion, they thought I was dying. The nurses managed to keep straight faces. Unfortunately at this point I was still in triage, and the other poor pre-labor mothers in the room could hear my antics.
My mom, grandma, and cousin Melissa were on the road to the hospital by this time. Forgive me, but I don't recall exactly when they arrived. Also, Carrie was on her way. The midwife checked me and informed Scott and me that I was one centimeter dilated.
One.
Centimeter.
Dilated.
ONE.
ONE.
She suggested I walk the halls for about two hours to speed up dilation. She also cautioned us that it was unlikely I'd be much more dilated after the walk and would probably be sent home for a few hours. Mom, Hash, and Melissa arrived sometime around this ludicrous suggestion that I walk the halls. So, mom, Scott and I started out for the walk, mom holding the vomit basin that I could not be parted from. The "walk" consisted of:
1) A lot of throwing up. As in: step. step. puke. step. puke. step. step. step. puke.
2) A lot of crying. So more like: step. puke. cry. puke. step.
3) Repeatedly asking for ice: step. puke. cry. tearfully ask for ice. step. puke.
4) A lot of stopping. I think I walked 30 feet in an hour: step. stop. puke. cry. ask for ice. stay stopped. step. puke.
What's really unfortunate is that the hospital was not closed on the day of my labor. So, we were walking by nurses, orderlies, folks in the waiting room, etc. Hopefully, seeing my antics in the halls gave these people entertaining stories to tell their families.
After walking for about an hour and 30 or so feet, I returned to my bed in the triage, tearfully proclaiming that I could not walk anymore and that it was very cruel to force a dying woman to walk to her death. Couldn't I lie in bed and peacefully meet my demise? Is that too much to ask? I didn't care if they told me my cervix hadn't budged. I wasn't leaving that room again unless it was on a stretcher.
The nurse examined me again and- holy cow!- now I was 6 centimeters. Up to 6 centimeters in an hour. Now the nurses are rushing to get me to a birthing room. Carrie was here at this point and was quite comforting to me (eh, well, I was as comforted as I was capable of getting). I remember laying on the hospital bed, writhing around because I could not get comfortable. Sometime during all of this the nurse asked me if I was interested in pain medication. Scott and I told her that our birth plan included my birthing naturally, with no drugs of any kind. All of the sudden I realized, Am I insane?! No drugs?! What the hell is the matter with me??? Give me whatever drugs you can find!! I don't care if you bought them from the crackhead down on the corner! Give them to me!
Luckily, Scott did not go out to fetch illegal drugs as I requested. We all knew I wanted a natural child birth and I had informed Carrie, Scott, and my mom in advance that I was sure I would be asking for whatever drugs were in a 5 mile radius, but that deep down I actually didn't want them.
Also disturbing was the fact that I wasn't getting "breaks" between contractions. You know about the breaks. They aren't long, but they're still breaks. Well, I got no breaks. I asked the nurse where she thought my breaks were, thinking maybe she could get me some. I also complained to Carrie profusely about the lack of breaks. It's as if I thought my body would hear my complaints and give me some breaks.
Within 30 minutes after they told me I was 6 centimeters, I began to feel the urge to push. This troubled me, as I was still in triage since my delivery room wasn't ready yet. I informed Scott that I was having the urge to push, and he somehow hid his horror from me and ran to get a nurse. I kept repeating to Carrie: I want to push. I want to push. What do I do. Oh my god. I want to push. Should I push? I don't understand what to do. I want to push. Oh my god. The pain was unbearable. I laid on my side and, while in my head, I was screaming, apparently in real life I was moaning pathetically and hanging my head over the side of the bed.
The nurse came back and checked my dilation. The look on her face was priceless when she informed me that I was now 9 centimeters dilated. She called over her shoulder, "she's nine! She's nine!" and now there was a flurry of activity around me to try to get me to a delivery room before this baby flew out. I'd requested a room with a birthing tub because I planned on laboring in the tub. They wheeled me into the room (I don't remember much about the trip, sorry) and the tub was filling up and looked very inviting. However, I was still having the incredible urge to push and I was informed that I wasn't going to have time to get in the tub. I believe the doctor arrived shortly after I arrived at the delivery room- I may need to check on that fact with someone who was lucid during this time. She checked me and wanted me to start pushing right away.
Oh, the pushing. Somehow this part hurt way less than all of the rest of the labor, and in my mind I envisioned pushing as the worst because this was when the baby would have to actually exit my body. Scott, my mom, and Carrie were on my right, holding my legs and someone was holding my hand. There was also a slight crowd in my room of nurses, I believe. I'm wasn't sure why, but someone said to me later it was to see a natural childbirth. The doctor told me to push whenever I felt a contraction and told Scott to count to 10 whenever I started pushing. I only pushed about 5 or 6 times before they told me she was out! I couldn't believe it! They put her on my chest and I was in heaven. It's amazing how you go from death like agony to bliss so quickly! Scott and my mom were crying and I think the nurses and doctor were relieved it was over so quickly (as was I....). She arrived at 7:14 pm on January 1.
So, that's the story of Roswyn's birth. I think every mother remembers the day she gave birth as super special and unique, and it really is. I'm so glad I had the experience that I did. The nurses and nurse midwives at Methodist are seriously the bomb. And Dr. Bernardin is as well. Also, I think every pregnant woman should have a doula. I don't know what I would have done without Carrie. And of course, I am so grateful for my perfect girl!