Friday, August 15, 2008

3 Weeks Old

Our children, these lovely primitive creatures (as our pediatrician describes them at this stage) are twenty-one days old. The living room is Base Camp here at Casa Caballero-Taylor, and the Olympic Games are the backdrop to our own emerging world records: first time reaching out to touch daddy's face, most ounces consumed, weight gained, and the greatest number of poopy diapers produced in a day.

Will you be shocked to know that Mommy has *not* been writing down sweet little details for the creatures' baby books? Time is cruel that way... when we're not feeding one child or the other, we're changing said diapers, and I'm pumping and monitoring milk and formula supply, washing bottles and dishes from our hastily eaten meals, and doing paperwork (babies' social security cards arrived yesterday!). Email is a wonderful treat, and every friend who writes even the shortest message of encouragement and connection with the world beyond is much appreciated.

As I write this, things seem manageable. My lovely husband was up all night con la niña Sarita, who's been congested (docs say it's probably just vernix working its way out of the lungs, but wow can this girl snort and sneeze with the best of 'em). So Juan's now sleeping for a couple of hours by himself and I've got both kids, fed and changed. The niña is sleeping in a donut-shaped "boppy" pillow, the only way she'll sleep today unless she's on your chest, and el niño Juanito is swaddled on me in a sling, first time I've used it, and he seems to really like it. He's the more alert/active of the two at this stage, and I think he gets fussy after after a while of staring into middle space when he's not sleeping or eating. But being in the mommy sling listening to Macy Gray and Talking Heads and REM... I think that's more his style.

Today is the twins' thee-week birthday and, incidentally, the day Nature intended them to be born. Twenty one days since the c-section, and I'm dancing around the house a little bit each morning now; the doc did a good job, I'll say, despite my ongoing disappointment that the birth went such a surgical route. At least the healing has been speedy and most of all, thank goodness the babies are healthy despite their choreographed early arrival.

So here's the birth story, which I'm writing as a form of therapy in an effort to be somewhat done with it. From the start of the pregnancy, my docs insisted that the twins shouldn't stay in utero longer than 37 weeks (full term is 40 weeks), so when the time rolled around and I still hadn't given birth, they recommended induction. By this point, I was physically really miserable (gaining 70 pounds over 6 months will do that to you) and I'd been having heavy contractions for 3 nights in a row, feeling like I was going to go into labor on my own any moment, but also fearing that I wouldn't... that I was in for 3 more weeks of this... so I consented to the induction with the proviso that I'd have one of the docs that was really open to helping me give birth vaginally.

Little did I know that inductions can fail. After 9 hours on a pitocin IV drip (to induce contractions and, by extention, dilation of the cervix), I was contracting every 2 minutes yet had exactly Zero change in my cervix. Imagine. I'd been given an epidural (pain management installed in the spinal cavity) about four hours into the pitocin drip because the physical exams were so excruciating and my anxiety level so high... so by the time the induction was determined to have failed (what a word!), I had two choices: go home pregnant and try again another day (I'm not kidding... this was a stated option) or have a c-section. Well. I was in a state. But I just wasn't prepared to go home having already faced the pitocin and the epidural (the insertion procedure for which was truly hellish) and knowing that I'd face more nights of utter misery and contractions at home. I felt trapped. So there we were, with a c-section.

For the record, the procedure went without a hitch. Babies' heart rates were stellar throughout, as was mine. Juan had a view of the whole process: the layered incisions, the retrieval of Baby A (Sarah) followed by Baby B (Juan), and the methodical suturing, moving up layer by layer until all that showed was a 5-inch incision below my belly. I felt nothing and everything: the anesthesiologist works a kind of magic that lets you feel movement (e.g. someone pressing down on your abdomen) but not pain. Such medical advances remind me that we humans are very advanced creatures in some respects.

So why the long face? The delivery of my healthy babies is of course a gigantic consolation, but then again their health was never in question. So I'm grappling with anger about this medicalized chain of events that seemed so avoidable and yet so inevitable. I'd spent MONTHS working to avoid precisely this scenario, yet in the end, surgery was used to deliver two perfectly healthy babies who were showing no signs of stress, who were entirely capable of being delivered vaginally from a mother who also was fine (though freaked out). For my doctor, for the medical practice to which she belonged, and for the medical system of which they are a part, it was simply efficient and, from a risk management (read: insurance) perspective, low risk to move ahead with a c-section.

Well, let them try being on the receiving end. The birth experience left me reeling, especially for the first week when the incisions were painful enough to inspire taking heavy doses of oxycontin-- ooh, I could fly! The residual hormones floating around made me prone to crying jags. Husband, parents and friends have been sympathetic and understanding, lucky for me, but these thoughts are enduring enough that I feel the need to write them down.

Crying jags aside, I haven't suffered signs of postpartum depression. I'm enjoying my babies, even when they're screaming simultaneously... I just think of their wailing as their own special kind of singing, since wailing is all they can do, acoustically speaking. And maybe it *is* singing, for all we know. So I sing back at them and I dance. Fifty of those 70 pounds I gained have magically disappeared, allowing me to move like I haven't moved since last April (go breast feeding diet). And wonder of wonders, my hands are working again, the carpal-tunnel symptoms having retreated, which means I have almost full sensation in my fingertips.

That said, these fingers are ready to take a rest, so I'll stop here.

4 Comments:

At 7:25 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Even though I'd already heard the story, it was lovely reading it again. I'm glad to hear that you are no longer reeling from the experience. It sounds like you and Juan are getting into your groove!!! Wonderful news!

 
At 1:04 PM, Blogger Mysh said...

I understand how you can feel cheated over the experience, but Sarah and Juan now have a strong Mommy who is almost as good as new, and ready to take care of them and write about it for us lucky readers. :O) Many blessings! ~MShell

 
At 3:14 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I went through a similar experience. Pitocin for two days (go home tonite, come back tomorrow...twice!) and then just as I was leaving the third day (and DONE with it...wasn't coming back!), my body kicked in. Of course, twice as painful cuz of the pitocin. Ended up in the delivery room with tools, instead of the nice granola birthing room with soft music. I was pissed. But then, the baby made it all go away. Oh well...healthy baby, healthy mom. Have to focus on that.

Love the stories and photos, Karen. Thanks for sharing!

 
At 12:38 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

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