I drove to Virginia on Wednesday to spend Thanksgiving with my mother and sister and her family. I wasn't sure this would be the right thing for me to do and spent a lot of time beforehand thinking about how to handle this holiday. Coming up with a plan was actually an assignment from my support group, and last Wednesday when I still hadn't decided on my plan I was chided a little by one of the group facilitators. I made it through the holiday by not thinking of this as a Thanksgiving trip so much as another trip to give Marie a little break and do some things for my Mom. Still, standing at my mother's kitchen sink washing lunch dishes reminded me that a year ago, on the day after Thanksgiving, Ed stood at that very sink washing dishes. I even have a photo of him at the sink and Mark with the drying towel in hand. I remember that I was working on the plugged-up vacuum hose at the time and Marie, Joey and Jeffrey (my nephews), and Melissa were putting up Grandma's Christmas tree. We put the tree up again this year on the day after Thanksgiving. Despite the memories going through my head, I held it together. I drove back today (Saturday, November 24).
The new memory being created this weekend is not a good one. Ed's brother, Bob, is losing his battle with pancreatic cancer. Last Friday, he participated in making the arrangements for hospice care at his home, the plan being that a hospice nurse would come once a week. But his condition has deteriorated rapidly since mid-week. He is currently under 24-hour hospice care at home. The description of his condition is painfully familiar. I wish there was something I could do for him and for his family, but I don't have any magic words or deeds to help them through this. I often ask Ed to please be with me somehow when I make these long drives or when I have to face something that scares me or concerns me; but today, all day, I have told Ed to be with his brother, to help Bob in whatever way he can.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Memorial Christmas Lights
Last night at the support group session, I found another way to remember Ed during the holidays. I have made a donation to HomeReach Hospice to help light the Hospice Holiday Tree at the Franklin County Government Center. Fittingly, the program is called "Light Up a Life." Christmas has always been our favorite holiday, so to do this is meaningful for me. I have arranged for 8 lights on the tree in Ed's memory with the idea that they are from the 8 of us: Sherry, Debbie, Eddie, Judi, Dave, Becky, Melissa, and me. Despite my indecision about decorating the house for Christmas, putting up a tree--every time I think about it I can't decide how I feel about all that--I knew in an instant that I wanted to do this.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Memorial Services
November has brought about two memorial services and another will come in December. On November 2, All Souls Day, a special evening Mass was said at our church to remember church members who died in the past year. There were 13 names written in calligraphy in a special book displayed before the altar and, of course, Ed's name was included. I anticipated this would be one time that I wouldn't feel embarrassed to cry in church--at Sunday Mass I never know what might set me off. I shed tears, especially during the Prayer of the Faithful when each name was solemnly read, but not nearly as much as I thought I would. As so often happens, "Giesman" was mispronounced; the pastor Father Eilerman said Mass, not Father Brosmer who knew us well, so I wasn't surprised. Nevertheless, I appreciated being invited to attend this Mass. Afterwards there was a dessert and drinks reception. I sat at a table with a retired couple who came just because they have been parishioners for a very long time and know practically everybody. As we chatted, I learned that their son was a financial planner, and I let them know I was looking for such a resource. She immediately called her son and gave him my name and number so that was nice, and I will contact him to see if he's someone I'm interested in working with. However, even as she introduced me to other people at the reception, the woman kept emphasizing that I was all alone. I actually went into this Mass in a pretty good frame of mind thanks to having a very pleasant dinner beforehand with Ed's cousin Fred and Sandy Runk. So while it was nice to meet some people that evening, I could have done without that "alone" label stuck to me.
This afternoon, I attended a memorial service sponsored by the Hospice that helped take care of Ed. Joining me were David, Debbie, and Becky. It was a simple service with soft music, brief but meaningful readings, and a focus on reading the names of the deceased and presenting a carnation to a family member (in our case, to me). Only those represented by family had their names read, but the program had the names of all the people Hospice helped who died in June through September. The length of that list was overwhelming. This was another service where I thought I might go to pieces, but I stayed calm and shed only a tear or two. I was glad to discover that the woman who assists at my support group was assigned to read Ed's name--I knew she would pronounce Giesman correctly, and for good measure, she showed me that someone had typed the phonetic spelling on her notes to make sure the name was pronounced correctly. I also spoke with several people from the support group before the service began, and it felt good to go somewhere in Columbus and actually know some people, even if it was our sad circumstances that got us acquainted.
Before I left for my latest Iowa trip (more on that in a bit), I got an invitation from Sunset Cemetery to attend a memorial service December 10 at their chapel. I will go to that one, too. As a remembrance, the cemetery will provide an ornament that says "In remembrance of Ed Giesman." I might have passed up going to this service because I get too keyed up anticipating these events, but Ed and I always bought Christmas ornaments as mementos of every place we visited and so I'm drawn to the idea of having this ornament.
I flew to Iowa Saturday, November 3, for a quick visit, flew back November 7. Melissa's workmates held a shower for her and Will on Sunday, and on Monday we three went shopping. Will is now 12 pounds, responding with smiles, and looking a little more like Melissa did as a baby around the eyes, I think. I enjoyed a little time out with Mark's parents after church on Sunday, too, so my few days there were busy. Next trip--December 24.
I'm still deciding what to do about Thanksgiving. My sister has invited me as has Debbie. I'm currently doing the rounds of doctors for my 6-month follow-ups of my own health issues. I'm back to work on the November SAT essays until the 20th (unless they get finished early). I'm ignoring my paperwork stacks on the kitchen counter because of these other things going on, so I feel a little guilty about that. I'm very concerned about Ed's brother Bob's deteriorating health. Part of me just wants to stay home alone on Thanksgiving and not think about or do anything. I had hoped that the "Dealing with the Holidays" workshop we did Wednesday evening at the support group session would give me some insight, but the only thing I got out of the session was to recognize the conflict created by the emotions and reactions that grief causes versus the expected holiday-time emotions and attitudes. So much of the counseling stresses doing what you think is best for yourself when making any decision, but I don't see how I can ignore other people's feelings about or reactions to the decisions I make. How to handle the holidays is just one dilemma out of a long list.
This afternoon, I attended a memorial service sponsored by the Hospice that helped take care of Ed. Joining me were David, Debbie, and Becky. It was a simple service with soft music, brief but meaningful readings, and a focus on reading the names of the deceased and presenting a carnation to a family member (in our case, to me). Only those represented by family had their names read, but the program had the names of all the people Hospice helped who died in June through September. The length of that list was overwhelming. This was another service where I thought I might go to pieces, but I stayed calm and shed only a tear or two. I was glad to discover that the woman who assists at my support group was assigned to read Ed's name--I knew she would pronounce Giesman correctly, and for good measure, she showed me that someone had typed the phonetic spelling on her notes to make sure the name was pronounced correctly. I also spoke with several people from the support group before the service began, and it felt good to go somewhere in Columbus and actually know some people, even if it was our sad circumstances that got us acquainted.
Before I left for my latest Iowa trip (more on that in a bit), I got an invitation from Sunset Cemetery to attend a memorial service December 10 at their chapel. I will go to that one, too. As a remembrance, the cemetery will provide an ornament that says "In remembrance of Ed Giesman." I might have passed up going to this service because I get too keyed up anticipating these events, but Ed and I always bought Christmas ornaments as mementos of every place we visited and so I'm drawn to the idea of having this ornament.
I flew to Iowa Saturday, November 3, for a quick visit, flew back November 7. Melissa's workmates held a shower for her and Will on Sunday, and on Monday we three went shopping. Will is now 12 pounds, responding with smiles, and looking a little more like Melissa did as a baby around the eyes, I think. I enjoyed a little time out with Mark's parents after church on Sunday, too, so my few days there were busy. Next trip--December 24.
I'm still deciding what to do about Thanksgiving. My sister has invited me as has Debbie. I'm currently doing the rounds of doctors for my 6-month follow-ups of my own health issues. I'm back to work on the November SAT essays until the 20th (unless they get finished early). I'm ignoring my paperwork stacks on the kitchen counter because of these other things going on, so I feel a little guilty about that. I'm very concerned about Ed's brother Bob's deteriorating health. Part of me just wants to stay home alone on Thanksgiving and not think about or do anything. I had hoped that the "Dealing with the Holidays" workshop we did Wednesday evening at the support group session would give me some insight, but the only thing I got out of the session was to recognize the conflict created by the emotions and reactions that grief causes versus the expected holiday-time emotions and attitudes. So much of the counseling stresses doing what you think is best for yourself when making any decision, but I don't see how I can ignore other people's feelings about or reactions to the decisions I make. How to handle the holidays is just one dilemma out of a long list.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Marker in place
On Thursday, October 18, Ed's grave marker from the Veterans Administration was installed. The cemetery called me Friday at noon to tell me, and I immediately went to the cemetery to see it. I had been dreading this day but upon seeing it, instead of feeling dread and becoming hysterical as I thought might happen, I felt a sense of peace and calmness. I shed only a few tears at the sight. It was just as I had ordered it, simple and dignified, showing his name, rank and branch of service, birth and death dates, and a cross. It's a dark brown bronze with a simple raised design around the edges lightly brushed with a dark gold coloring, the same coloring that is used for the raised lettering. The marker sits on a light gray granite slab that is more than double the width of the marker, which sits on the left side of the granite. In the center of the granite is a dark bronze flower holder, which also has a cross on it. It just so happened that there were two red roses blooming on our garden rose bush that has hardly produced anything all summer following the harsh spring we had, and I clipped them before I left and put them in the flower holder. The right side of the granite has nothing on it, at my request. Normally, people buy both plaques at the same time when they buy two cemetery lots and have all the information put on the survivor's plaque as well, leaving only the date of death to be added; I chose not to do that. At the time I was ordering the marker, I recognized that it could be many years until my death (after all my father lived to be 80, my mother is 82, and I have aunts who lived into their 90s), and who knows what or where I'll be then. So I told the kids that if something happens to me within the next few years, my burial place is set; but if, God forbid, something happens to one of them and their family wants it, the space can be available to them.
I first left for the cemetery immediately after getting the phone call, literally grabbed my purse and jumped into the car and took off. I got about a half mile from the house when I remembered that there would be a flower holder to fill, so I turned around and came back--not as quickly as getting that far because I had to wait for a train to pass. That gave me time to get my head straight. I thought about asking someone to go with me, about taking a small flag and how to secure it in the holder. But when I pulled back into the driveway, those two red roses caught my eye. Then as I scurried around getting the roses cut and into stem holders and gathered some options for keeping them secured in the bronze holder since it has been so windy, I decided that this was something I wanted to do alone. Wednesday evening at the support group (another set of weekly sessions is in progress, this time right up until Christmas), the guy who bought my car told the group that his wife's headstone had been installed that day and he was ecstatic when he saw it. I didn't understand how he could feel ecstatic, but I thought maybe by going alone to the cemetery, I could just let myself feel whatever feeling came over me. As I said, I felt peaceful. Then, typical of me I suppose, I started to clean off the plaque because it had some dust spots on it. As windy as it was, it may be that the rose petals were blown off before the day was over, but I'm glad the first roses in the holder were from our garden.
I've been having a rough week emotion-wise, actually since Thursday of last week. My support group reminded me that the ups and downs of grieving can go on for a long time and it's only been 4 months, that this is one of those down times. One other thing that happened during the group session was more of a revelation to me. A new participant sitting next to me talked about how she was trying to find her identity after being caretaker and best friend to her 29-year-old daughter, who died after a long illness. That word "identity" jolted me. That is the subject of the SAT essays I'm working on. I started back to grading essays Thursday of last week. Frequently I've been bursting into tears in the middle of reading an essay but haven't found any particular idea I'm reading to be a trigger. After her comment it hit me--I can't believe I didn't realize this sooner--that, like anyone else who lost a spouse or someone close to them, I am re-defining my identity as I have to take care of things that Ed used to do and as I think about what my future holds. The future is not something I face easily. As the group re-convened after a break, another member wanted to continue to talk about re-defining yourself. After a few comments, I told the group about my revelation, that these identity essays must be getting to my subconscious mind, reminding me that I have a lot to figure out for myself. The two facilitators were nodding their heads so vigorously that they looked like bobble-head dolls. That must have been some kind of breakthrough for me because on Thursday of this week when I sat down to work on essays, I didn't cry but for one moment, and I didn't cry at all on Friday as I worked on them.
You might notice what time it is that I am writing this. I've been up since 3:30 a.m. with thoughts of Ed jumbling up in my mind. Usually I just talk out loud to him to get myself "unjumbled." This time I thought if I wrote this blog, maybe I could get back to sleep more easily. By the way, in my last blog I couldn't remember what Melissa's old car was. It just came to me, a 1999 Grand Prix. What turns the mind takes!
I first left for the cemetery immediately after getting the phone call, literally grabbed my purse and jumped into the car and took off. I got about a half mile from the house when I remembered that there would be a flower holder to fill, so I turned around and came back--not as quickly as getting that far because I had to wait for a train to pass. That gave me time to get my head straight. I thought about asking someone to go with me, about taking a small flag and how to secure it in the holder. But when I pulled back into the driveway, those two red roses caught my eye. Then as I scurried around getting the roses cut and into stem holders and gathered some options for keeping them secured in the bronze holder since it has been so windy, I decided that this was something I wanted to do alone. Wednesday evening at the support group (another set of weekly sessions is in progress, this time right up until Christmas), the guy who bought my car told the group that his wife's headstone had been installed that day and he was ecstatic when he saw it. I didn't understand how he could feel ecstatic, but I thought maybe by going alone to the cemetery, I could just let myself feel whatever feeling came over me. As I said, I felt peaceful. Then, typical of me I suppose, I started to clean off the plaque because it had some dust spots on it. As windy as it was, it may be that the rose petals were blown off before the day was over, but I'm glad the first roses in the holder were from our garden.
I've been having a rough week emotion-wise, actually since Thursday of last week. My support group reminded me that the ups and downs of grieving can go on for a long time and it's only been 4 months, that this is one of those down times. One other thing that happened during the group session was more of a revelation to me. A new participant sitting next to me talked about how she was trying to find her identity after being caretaker and best friend to her 29-year-old daughter, who died after a long illness. That word "identity" jolted me. That is the subject of the SAT essays I'm working on. I started back to grading essays Thursday of last week. Frequently I've been bursting into tears in the middle of reading an essay but haven't found any particular idea I'm reading to be a trigger. After her comment it hit me--I can't believe I didn't realize this sooner--that, like anyone else who lost a spouse or someone close to them, I am re-defining my identity as I have to take care of things that Ed used to do and as I think about what my future holds. The future is not something I face easily. As the group re-convened after a break, another member wanted to continue to talk about re-defining yourself. After a few comments, I told the group about my revelation, that these identity essays must be getting to my subconscious mind, reminding me that I have a lot to figure out for myself. The two facilitators were nodding their heads so vigorously that they looked like bobble-head dolls. That must have been some kind of breakthrough for me because on Thursday of this week when I sat down to work on essays, I didn't cry but for one moment, and I didn't cry at all on Friday as I worked on them.
You might notice what time it is that I am writing this. I've been up since 3:30 a.m. with thoughts of Ed jumbling up in my mind. Usually I just talk out loud to him to get myself "unjumbled." This time I thought if I wrote this blog, maybe I could get back to sleep more easily. By the way, in my last blog I couldn't remember what Melissa's old car was. It just came to me, a 1999 Grand Prix. What turns the mind takes!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Back from trip, back to work, and baby update
Driving to Iowa on Sept. 26 and back on Oct. 9 turned out to be no problem for me. Once again I surprised myself with how easily I handled it with few breaks and no naps along the way. My days at Melissa and Mark's were filled with doing things around their house so that they could concentrate on the baby. I had my turns with Will, of course. A few people have asked me how it feels to be a grandmother, and I have honestly answered that it hasn't really sunk in yet. Perhaps because Will is such a good baby and his parents are doing so well with him, I find myself thinking--and worrying--about Melissa's recovery more than about the baby. Her blood sugars have been all over the place, and she has experienced some really high blood sugars that plummet so low so quickly that she breaks out into a sweat and feels ill. That scares her and me.
Because of that and because I kept finding more things I could do around the house, I never did drive over to Des Moines to see friends. I didn't make it to tailgating with friends in Iowa City either before the football game on Sept. 29. That was because I was up until 2 a.m. after Will's birth, so getting up early and driving with the football crowd to Iowa City and finding parking and walking to the tailgate spot just didn't happen. I did, however, take a drive Sunday afternoon by myself to see North Liberty and to find the Pearson building in Coralville, which is where I call into when I have a work question. Melissa has been suggesting that the fast-growing North Liberty would be a good place for me to move to--not so close to her that I'd just drop in but close enough to be there quickly if need be. I also drove around the west side of Cedar Rapids after church on Sunday to see how it's grown since I lived there back in 1976-77. Both places have spread out and are continuing to grow, but neither gave me the feeling that I "belong" there. I have thought that if a full-time job at Pearson were available to me, I'd have a reason to move back to Iowa and locate in the Iowa City-Cedar Rapids area. Everyone who talks to me about moving assumes I will move back to Iowa to be closer to Melissa. She wants me to move somewhere closer, but at this point I don't have the energy to start all over someplace where I don't know anyone, and it really bothers me to depend on Melissa when she has so much to cope with herself. On the drive back, I listened to all the Chicagoland radio stations and thought about how much I liked working at Elgin Community College, singing with the Elgin Choral Union, and taking advantage of all Chicago offers (despite the high cost of living). In short, I'm not ready to make a decision about moving, mainly because even just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm abandoning Ed and our last home. Wow, that's some pretty heavy thinking I just shared!
Planning my travel around Pearson's work requirements worked out fine. I did the new software download and computer check before I left; did my training on Oct. 10, the last available day for it; and started grading SAT essays yesterday. I'll be working every day for 12 or 13 days. I considered going back to Iowa after that and before the next scoring session begins, especially if Melissa could use some help. But for right now I have no concrete plans about when I will next make the trip (except I do know I will fly, not drive).
Will had his first doctor checkup yesterday; he is doing well. He now weighs 9 pounds 14 ounces, is 22 inches long. Before I left, he developed more than the usual "eye gunk" around his left eye that also started to appear around his right eye. The doctor suspects a very minor eye infection, not unusual in newborns, which is being treated with some sort of oil that Melissa puts on his lids and eyelashes 3 times a day, which then works its way to the eye as he opens and closes. Last night she reported his eyes already were looking better. They have the go-ahead to introduce a bottle (she started pumping several days ago). Will seems to want to feed off and on for hours, alternating with a little sleep (called cluster feeding), and letting you know with his wailing that he's ready to eat again (hence, I call him our own William, Prince of Wails). Unfortunately, his favorite time to do that is around 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., not good for Mark getting enough sleep to function well at work. So they will try to get him to move that cluster feeding to earlier in the evening and, at the doctor's suggestion, also use some formula at night so he feels fuller for a longer time.
The other news is that yesterday Melissa and Mark bought a 2008 Toyota RAV 4. A friend who works at the dealership got them a good deal. It's silver with gray interior. What a difference in roominess and ride compared with Melissa's 1999--I just blanked on what car she had, and Ed and I even bought it for her in Elgin, IL.
Ending this blog with a fact I can't bring to mind does not bode well for focusing on essays today. Let's hope some coffee and breakfast gets my mind working better.
Because of that and because I kept finding more things I could do around the house, I never did drive over to Des Moines to see friends. I didn't make it to tailgating with friends in Iowa City either before the football game on Sept. 29. That was because I was up until 2 a.m. after Will's birth, so getting up early and driving with the football crowd to Iowa City and finding parking and walking to the tailgate spot just didn't happen. I did, however, take a drive Sunday afternoon by myself to see North Liberty and to find the Pearson building in Coralville, which is where I call into when I have a work question. Melissa has been suggesting that the fast-growing North Liberty would be a good place for me to move to--not so close to her that I'd just drop in but close enough to be there quickly if need be. I also drove around the west side of Cedar Rapids after church on Sunday to see how it's grown since I lived there back in 1976-77. Both places have spread out and are continuing to grow, but neither gave me the feeling that I "belong" there. I have thought that if a full-time job at Pearson were available to me, I'd have a reason to move back to Iowa and locate in the Iowa City-Cedar Rapids area. Everyone who talks to me about moving assumes I will move back to Iowa to be closer to Melissa. She wants me to move somewhere closer, but at this point I don't have the energy to start all over someplace where I don't know anyone, and it really bothers me to depend on Melissa when she has so much to cope with herself. On the drive back, I listened to all the Chicagoland radio stations and thought about how much I liked working at Elgin Community College, singing with the Elgin Choral Union, and taking advantage of all Chicago offers (despite the high cost of living). In short, I'm not ready to make a decision about moving, mainly because even just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm abandoning Ed and our last home. Wow, that's some pretty heavy thinking I just shared!
Planning my travel around Pearson's work requirements worked out fine. I did the new software download and computer check before I left; did my training on Oct. 10, the last available day for it; and started grading SAT essays yesterday. I'll be working every day for 12 or 13 days. I considered going back to Iowa after that and before the next scoring session begins, especially if Melissa could use some help. But for right now I have no concrete plans about when I will next make the trip (except I do know I will fly, not drive).
Will had his first doctor checkup yesterday; he is doing well. He now weighs 9 pounds 14 ounces, is 22 inches long. Before I left, he developed more than the usual "eye gunk" around his left eye that also started to appear around his right eye. The doctor suspects a very minor eye infection, not unusual in newborns, which is being treated with some sort of oil that Melissa puts on his lids and eyelashes 3 times a day, which then works its way to the eye as he opens and closes. Last night she reported his eyes already were looking better. They have the go-ahead to introduce a bottle (she started pumping several days ago). Will seems to want to feed off and on for hours, alternating with a little sleep (called cluster feeding), and letting you know with his wailing that he's ready to eat again (hence, I call him our own William, Prince of Wails). Unfortunately, his favorite time to do that is around 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., not good for Mark getting enough sleep to function well at work. So they will try to get him to move that cluster feeding to earlier in the evening and, at the doctor's suggestion, also use some formula at night so he feels fuller for a longer time.
The other news is that yesterday Melissa and Mark bought a 2008 Toyota RAV 4. A friend who works at the dealership got them a good deal. It's silver with gray interior. What a difference in roominess and ride compared with Melissa's 1999--I just blanked on what car she had, and Ed and I even bought it for her in Elgin, IL.
Ending this blog with a fact I can't bring to mind does not bode well for focusing on essays today. Let's hope some coffee and breakfast gets my mind working better.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
It's a boy!
William James Wehr--to be known as Will
Born 10:36 p.m. Central time, Friday, September 28, 2007
9 pounds, 8 ounces, 21 inches long
lots of hair the color of Melissa's
Melissa was admitted to Mercy Hospital in Cedar Rapids at 7:30 a.m. on Friday, Sept. 28, as planned. A nurse was with her practically non-stop from the time she was admitted. By 8:30 she was settled in a large birthing room, with IV drips of fluids, insulin, and an antibiotic (she tested positive for Group B strep, not uncommon in pregnant women). At 9:00 the oxytocin drip was started. She was almost at 3 cm dilated and she actually was already having contractions when she got to the hospital, but she never felt them; the monitors picked them up immediately. Once the oxytocin was on board, the pain increased and she began to realize she had more than a backache. Up until around 2 p.m., she had contractions but handled them well with her breathing technique and was laughing and talking in between them. Her Dad and Peggy and I were with her and Mark all morning, Mark's sister Michelle came around 11, Mark's mother Marna came around 1.
At 2:15 p.m. Melissa had a much stronger, more intense contraction. Then her eyes got really wide and she thought she had gone to the bathroom and was embarrassed. I said, "Are you sure it isn't something else like your water breaking?" and at that moment the gush came, and the nurse confirmed it at 2:17. Then 1 1/2 minutes later the doctor walked in, ready to break her water--too late, doc! Things picked up after that and at 4 p.m. Melissa said, "I'm going to start getting crabby now, so everybody has to leave." The waiting area was right by her room and the nurse's station, so we could easily see who was going in and out of her room with what additional bags of fluid or whatever. At 6:50 p.m., Mark came out and said Melissa was fully dilated and was going to start pushing, but the doctor had warned it could take 3 hours. We were all sure it wouldn't take that long, but after 3 hours, her nurse came out to the nurse's station and said, "We're calling it. We're going C-section." During the 3 hours of pushing, the baby had not made much progress.
Within 15 minutes, we saw the arrival of the anesthesiologist (Michelle, who works in Mercy's cath lab, said he was one of the best and frequently specifically requested), and the neonatologist (again, Michelle said he was the best, so she was very confident). A neonatologist is always called in for C-sections, and this doctor came all dressed up and had obviously not been in the hospital when he got the call. Within minutes of their arrival, Melissa was wheeled in her birthing bed into the nearby operating room, so she saw us all standing there and we waved to each other. At about 10:40 we saw the neonatologist leave the area and presumed from that that the baby was born and was fine. At 10:45, because the other parties with us in the waiting area happened to not be speaking at that moment, I could hear the intercom-like communication to the nurses station that said, "We have a little boy at 22:36." Then within seconds, the lullaby chimed throughout the floor, the signal that a baby had been born. I told everybody that was the confirmation and I was sure I heard that it was a boy. We all sat there tensely waiting for official word. A nurse came out to us with a big smile on her face and apologized for not being able to tell us anything because of HIPPA, but she would send Mark out. He came out 5 minutes later with the announcement. Earlier in the evening, we all speculated about how Mark would look and what he would say at that moment. He had a slight smile on his face but was obviously exhausted himself, and as soon as I heard his voice I heard mostly concern and only a little relief. It took a minute for the happiness to come through.
In the operating room, Melissa opted not to be totally knocked out for the C-section but only have a spinal that would leave her alert, basically numbing only her lower half. However, that went slightly abnormally. The epidural she had had worked completely on her left side and only partially on her right side. She had been given a bolus epidural, but that didn't take on the right either, and then the spinal on top of that "traveled" too far up her spine so that she felt like she couldn't breathe. She panicked. They tried first the nasal canula to get her some oxygen, but she was really "freaking out" that she couldn't breathe. The anesthesiologist tried to talk her down but had to go to the hand-pumped oxygen because she said she couldn't feel any air in her lungs. Mark was very worried about her. As soon as they got the baby out and she saw him and held him for a second, the anesthesiologist sedated her so that she slept for about 20 minutes. He told her when she woke up she wouldn't have that feeling of not being able to breathe--and that's how it worked out. The baby was given a bottle and breast fed a little while still in the operating room. His first blood sugar reading was good enough that he could stay with Melissa and Mark rather than go to the NICU as was originally expected. At midnight, the new family finally got to go back to the birthing room and we finally got to get a glance at them. At 12:15 a.m., we were allowed in the room for a few minutes.
Mark held the baby with confidence and pride. Melissa looked totally exhausted but was smiling. The baby is BIG! At 9 pounds, 8 ounces, he has almost already outgrown the newborn diaper size. Because he is so long, he doesn't look like a pudgy baby. Melissa was surprised he has so much hair. Mark is glad it's her color and not his. We had all speculated earlier in the day that this baby would have to be a redhead because so much red hair runs through both families.
Melissa just called at 9 this morning. She didn't sleep well after we left because she kept waking up and looking to make sure Will was breathing. He has had several more blood sugar readings and they have been going up and down pretty much parallelling his feeding cycle. A pediatrician from the practice they'll be going to examined him this morning and said all is fine. Melissa and Mark are both very tired. Her blood sugar is running high, so a doctor from her internist's practice will be seeing her this morning to work out what to do for her insulin--either keep her on a drip or put her back on her pump are the two most likely choices. The anesthesiologist came to see them at 7 this morning. Melissa thanked him for all he did because he really worked at keeping her calm and reassured, but she thinks he is upset at the way things went last night. He told them her breathing panic was not normal, that that effect of the spinal was never supposed to happen. He gave them great detail about what happened within her body and reassured her there will be no aftereffects. She is only just now beginning to feel pain from the C-section incision, but she's been told she will get pain medication, she just doesn't know when that will start. She and Mark are going to try to get some more sleep this morning, so I hope they'll get the chance. There are a lot of people who want to hear all the news and talk with them, and of course there will be a steady parade of friends wanting to visit.
I was calm throughout the morning and afternoon in Melissa's birthing room and in the waiting area and took frequent walks around the hospital to give them some space. Once she started pushing, I got more tense. As those 3 hours wore on, I got more and more scared for them. During the C-section, I was constantly having to hold back tears and was totally wound up with fright. Overhearing that nurse's communication from the operating room was when I could finally breathe more normally again. Then with Mark's quick summary of what happened in the operating room, I tensed up all over again until I could see Melissa for myself. During the entire day yesterday, Ed's wedding ring, which I wear on my right hand, never before got such a workout of squeezing and twisting and rubbing.
Because of how late it was in the Eastern time zone when we finally had concrete word about Will, I called only my sister and Ed's daughter Judi (who had called several times during the evening for updates). Before I went to bed at 2 a.m., I e-mailed neice Pat, cousins Carole and Dot, and neighbor Bill Morgan. So that should start the word spreading. Now this morning I have the happy chore of calling and e-mailing more people with the news. I called my mother already--though I'm not sure she really absorbed all the details I gave her--and already got a call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was sure that baby had to be here by now. As a flight attendant, she sometimes is assigned a flight to Cedar Rapids and sometimes is here even overnight. From her comments about already having a baby gift for Will, I'm guessing this new baby is getting something Iowa Hawkeyes from her, and she says she may even try to visit when she has an overnight in Cedar Rapids. Even though sometimes I yell at God for what happened to this family this year, I also thank Him for such good neighbors and friends and for the blessings of family.
Born 10:36 p.m. Central time, Friday, September 28, 2007
9 pounds, 8 ounces, 21 inches long
lots of hair the color of Melissa's
Melissa was admitted to Mercy Hospital in Cedar Rapids at 7:30 a.m. on Friday, Sept. 28, as planned. A nurse was with her practically non-stop from the time she was admitted. By 8:30 she was settled in a large birthing room, with IV drips of fluids, insulin, and an antibiotic (she tested positive for Group B strep, not uncommon in pregnant women). At 9:00 the oxytocin drip was started. She was almost at 3 cm dilated and she actually was already having contractions when she got to the hospital, but she never felt them; the monitors picked them up immediately. Once the oxytocin was on board, the pain increased and she began to realize she had more than a backache. Up until around 2 p.m., she had contractions but handled them well with her breathing technique and was laughing and talking in between them. Her Dad and Peggy and I were with her and Mark all morning, Mark's sister Michelle came around 11, Mark's mother Marna came around 1.
At 2:15 p.m. Melissa had a much stronger, more intense contraction. Then her eyes got really wide and she thought she had gone to the bathroom and was embarrassed. I said, "Are you sure it isn't something else like your water breaking?" and at that moment the gush came, and the nurse confirmed it at 2:17. Then 1 1/2 minutes later the doctor walked in, ready to break her water--too late, doc! Things picked up after that and at 4 p.m. Melissa said, "I'm going to start getting crabby now, so everybody has to leave." The waiting area was right by her room and the nurse's station, so we could easily see who was going in and out of her room with what additional bags of fluid or whatever. At 6:50 p.m., Mark came out and said Melissa was fully dilated and was going to start pushing, but the doctor had warned it could take 3 hours. We were all sure it wouldn't take that long, but after 3 hours, her nurse came out to the nurse's station and said, "We're calling it. We're going C-section." During the 3 hours of pushing, the baby had not made much progress.
Within 15 minutes, we saw the arrival of the anesthesiologist (Michelle, who works in Mercy's cath lab, said he was one of the best and frequently specifically requested), and the neonatologist (again, Michelle said he was the best, so she was very confident). A neonatologist is always called in for C-sections, and this doctor came all dressed up and had obviously not been in the hospital when he got the call. Within minutes of their arrival, Melissa was wheeled in her birthing bed into the nearby operating room, so she saw us all standing there and we waved to each other. At about 10:40 we saw the neonatologist leave the area and presumed from that that the baby was born and was fine. At 10:45, because the other parties with us in the waiting area happened to not be speaking at that moment, I could hear the intercom-like communication to the nurses station that said, "We have a little boy at 22:36." Then within seconds, the lullaby chimed throughout the floor, the signal that a baby had been born. I told everybody that was the confirmation and I was sure I heard that it was a boy. We all sat there tensely waiting for official word. A nurse came out to us with a big smile on her face and apologized for not being able to tell us anything because of HIPPA, but she would send Mark out. He came out 5 minutes later with the announcement. Earlier in the evening, we all speculated about how Mark would look and what he would say at that moment. He had a slight smile on his face but was obviously exhausted himself, and as soon as I heard his voice I heard mostly concern and only a little relief. It took a minute for the happiness to come through.
In the operating room, Melissa opted not to be totally knocked out for the C-section but only have a spinal that would leave her alert, basically numbing only her lower half. However, that went slightly abnormally. The epidural she had had worked completely on her left side and only partially on her right side. She had been given a bolus epidural, but that didn't take on the right either, and then the spinal on top of that "traveled" too far up her spine so that she felt like she couldn't breathe. She panicked. They tried first the nasal canula to get her some oxygen, but she was really "freaking out" that she couldn't breathe. The anesthesiologist tried to talk her down but had to go to the hand-pumped oxygen because she said she couldn't feel any air in her lungs. Mark was very worried about her. As soon as they got the baby out and she saw him and held him for a second, the anesthesiologist sedated her so that she slept for about 20 minutes. He told her when she woke up she wouldn't have that feeling of not being able to breathe--and that's how it worked out. The baby was given a bottle and breast fed a little while still in the operating room. His first blood sugar reading was good enough that he could stay with Melissa and Mark rather than go to the NICU as was originally expected. At midnight, the new family finally got to go back to the birthing room and we finally got to get a glance at them. At 12:15 a.m., we were allowed in the room for a few minutes.
Mark held the baby with confidence and pride. Melissa looked totally exhausted but was smiling. The baby is BIG! At 9 pounds, 8 ounces, he has almost already outgrown the newborn diaper size. Because he is so long, he doesn't look like a pudgy baby. Melissa was surprised he has so much hair. Mark is glad it's her color and not his. We had all speculated earlier in the day that this baby would have to be a redhead because so much red hair runs through both families.
Melissa just called at 9 this morning. She didn't sleep well after we left because she kept waking up and looking to make sure Will was breathing. He has had several more blood sugar readings and they have been going up and down pretty much parallelling his feeding cycle. A pediatrician from the practice they'll be going to examined him this morning and said all is fine. Melissa and Mark are both very tired. Her blood sugar is running high, so a doctor from her internist's practice will be seeing her this morning to work out what to do for her insulin--either keep her on a drip or put her back on her pump are the two most likely choices. The anesthesiologist came to see them at 7 this morning. Melissa thanked him for all he did because he really worked at keeping her calm and reassured, but she thinks he is upset at the way things went last night. He told them her breathing panic was not normal, that that effect of the spinal was never supposed to happen. He gave them great detail about what happened within her body and reassured her there will be no aftereffects. She is only just now beginning to feel pain from the C-section incision, but she's been told she will get pain medication, she just doesn't know when that will start. She and Mark are going to try to get some more sleep this morning, so I hope they'll get the chance. There are a lot of people who want to hear all the news and talk with them, and of course there will be a steady parade of friends wanting to visit.
I was calm throughout the morning and afternoon in Melissa's birthing room and in the waiting area and took frequent walks around the hospital to give them some space. Once she started pushing, I got more tense. As those 3 hours wore on, I got more and more scared for them. During the C-section, I was constantly having to hold back tears and was totally wound up with fright. Overhearing that nurse's communication from the operating room was when I could finally breathe more normally again. Then with Mark's quick summary of what happened in the operating room, I tensed up all over again until I could see Melissa for myself. During the entire day yesterday, Ed's wedding ring, which I wear on my right hand, never before got such a workout of squeezing and twisting and rubbing.
Because of how late it was in the Eastern time zone when we finally had concrete word about Will, I called only my sister and Ed's daughter Judi (who had called several times during the evening for updates). Before I went to bed at 2 a.m., I e-mailed neice Pat, cousins Carole and Dot, and neighbor Bill Morgan. So that should start the word spreading. Now this morning I have the happy chore of calling and e-mailing more people with the news. I called my mother already--though I'm not sure she really absorbed all the details I gave her--and already got a call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was sure that baby had to be here by now. As a flight attendant, she sometimes is assigned a flight to Cedar Rapids and sometimes is here even overnight. From her comments about already having a baby gift for Will, I'm guessing this new baby is getting something Iowa Hawkeyes from her, and she says she may even try to visit when she has an overnight in Cedar Rapids. Even though sometimes I yell at God for what happened to this family this year, I also thank Him for such good neighbors and friends and for the blessings of family.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The new addition will soon be here
Tomorrow is the day Melissa will be induced. Perhaps before day's end tomorrow there will be a new life in this world--and doesn't she and all of us hope this won't be two days of labor! This is supposed to be a time of excitement and anticipation, and to some degree for me, it is. But it is an unusual mix of other emotions for me as well. Mark used the phrase "lack of spontaneity" tonight when I was trying to express how different this experience seemed. There's no surprise element of going into labor, though the big surprise will be to find out the sex of this child. I suppose the list-making Ed was always doing and the organizing gene I seem to have passed on to Melissa would say that it's appropriate to have the birth planned like this, right down to the list of who is going to call whom with the news. My excitement is tempered, however. I'm worried about Melissa and the baby, how she will bear up especially if it's a long labor, how the doctors will keep her blood sugar under control during labor and afterwards, whether there will be any ill effects on the baby from having a diabetic mother, how easily and quickly she and the baby will recover. Melissa has taken such good care of herself throughout her pregnancy and has had good medical care, so I shouldn't worry so much, but I have been and am still worrying. Then I think so much about Ed not being here to share this experience with me. Sure, he had many grandchildren, most of them born after we met. So I know his elation at each one's birth. But I think the birth of this baby would have been different for us. Perhaps that is self-centered thinking, but we talked so much about this baby in the first few months of this year, not just with each other but with Melissa, and that didn't happen while we awaited the births of his grandchildren. Back in the spring, I prayed so hard that medical intervention would stem Ed's cancer long enough for him to feel good and be able to be here in Iowa for this birth and to get to know this baby. I feel like we were cheated out of this happiness, and I'm sometimes angry about that as well as so sad about it. I'm sure this mix of emotions will still be within me as this child is born, but I hope the joy will take over so I can share in Melissa and Mark's happiness.
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