Grief Gratitude

The journal entry below is from June 19th, 2014.  Pretty incredible, how I was able to peer into the future and find strength in the known unknown of pain and loss.  I hold gratitude for the comfort and wisdom I generated for myself (with God's help and insight) on that June day, and feel especially thankful to have it to look back on now as I grieve my father.  Although I am still very much on this grief journey and learning more about it day by day, I read the following line-- "maybe I can be sure pain is coming, but I can't be sure that it will destroy me"-- and know that while I have been changed, I have not been destroyed.  I'm so glad my younger self considered that possibility, and so grateful to be realizing the full scope of my resilience.

**

It's really hard to be carefree when there are so many scary threats looming over you.  It's hard to be content and happy about little things in your life when you feel like they're trivial and you feel like you should always be in a solemn state of mind because there are so many things in the world to be taken seriously.  I have always felt guilty for being happy because a part of me has been lead to believe you're not supposed to be happy. If you allow yourself to be happy, something bad will happen. Bad things are happening all the time, if not to you, to other people.  There is no good reason to be happy.

But I doubt that line of thinking is what God had planned for me, or anyone else. I don't think He put us on this planet just to subscribe to that mentality.  It's difficult to have faith but in the end I have to believe that having faith is worth the trouble. Faith is the brave choice. And we can be terrified as we choose it, but it's still the brave choice.  We can choose it in the midst of swirling pain, utter confusion, and in the face of crippling odds.  We can choose it when we're weak, flawed, selfish, or numb. We can choose it any minute of any day. There is nothing we need to do first.

I was thinking the other day about things that are inevitable, specifically pain that is inevitable, like loss of loved ones or familiar things changing.  I was thinking my usual thought: that I should be sad now because that pain is a guarantee, a known unknown. That there is no reason to be happy now knowing that pain is sitting there smack dab in the middle of my future.  But like a tiny light in a tunnel, I had a new thought: maybe I can be sure pain is coming, but I can't be sure that it will destroy me.  I may imagine my future pain will eviscerate me and leave me a shadow of my former self, but that part is not a guarantee. It's a possibility, and a scary one. But there is also the possibility that I will experience pain in an altogether different way.  It may change me, but not necessarily for the worse.  I may experience change and loss and pain in a way that strengthens me, strengthens my relationships with other people and with God.  If we let them, don't all of our experiences serve to make us more of who we really are at our core? And I believe that who I am at my core is someone good, someone sensitive, someone faithful.  I am someone who always tries to see the good. I could have given up on that endeavor a long time ago, but I haven't. Even at my angriest and most bitter, I look for good. I am on a continuous search to see things from other people's point of view while honoring my own point of view.

It's completely pointless and unhelpful to try to figure out God's plan-- we can never know in this life.  I do think it might be helpful to be honest with God though, honest in our frustration when we don't understand. God created us to be vulnerable-- I don't know why. But we are vulnerable, and that's scary. Sometimes faith will take away our fears, and sometimes faith will have to coexist with our fears. You can be afraid and still have faith.  You can be angry and still be loving. You can be confused and still hold onto your fundamental beliefs. You can be sad and still be grateful.

Advent Songs ~ Marty Haugen

I'm very happy that Galo and I took time out this evening and yesterday evening to light the Advent wreath, listen to an Advent song from Marty Haugen's Night of Silence CD and read from the little blue book from St Joseph's (and recite the Our Father in Spanish to Nina!).  Yesterday I played "Each winter as the Year Grows Older" and tonight we listened to "Creator of the Stars of Night." The lyrics in Each Winter are pretty spot on for us this Advent.

Each Winter as the Year Grows Older

Each winter as the year grows older,
We each grow older too.
The chill sets in a little colder;
The verities we knew
Seem shaken and untrue.

When race and class cry out for treason,
When sirens call for war,
They overshout the voice of reason
And scream til we ignore
All we held dear before.

But I believe beyond believing,
That life can spring from death:
That growth can flower from our grieving;
That we can catch our breath
And turn transfixed by faith.

So even as the sun is turning
To journey to the north,
The living flame, in secret burning,
Can kindle on the earth
And bring God's love to birth.

O Child of ecstasy and sorrows,
O Prince of peace and pain,
Brighten today's world by tomorrows,
Renew our lives again;
Lord Jesus, come and reign!

Creator of the Stars of Night

Creator of the stars of night
Who shaped the sky's eternal lights
Oh Christ, Redeemer of us all
Bend near and hear us when we call

Oh Love that wore our human form
Oh tiny Child of lowly birth
Let now Your love be born in us
Til peace and justice fill the Earth

Give us a love that never dies
A vision of the world to come
When all oppression finally ends
And all the homeless find a home

When children teach the strong and proud
When all the hungry have their fill
When rich no longer use the poor
When guns and bombs no longer kill

Oh God who brought all life to birth
Oh Christ who wore love's human face
Oh Spirit making life anew
Grant us Your wisdom, love and grace

Papa Paul

Never imagined my gratitude blog would include my father's eulogy after his sudden passing.  But in a way it is altogether appropriate, since my heart holds so much gratitude for our relationship.

**

“I am Paul White’s daughter.” 

That has always been my claim to fame.  I don’t have older siblings so I never heard, “are you so-and-so’s little sister?” but I consistently heard, “Are you Paul White’s daughter?” And when I wasn’t being asked the question, I was telling people, unprompted.  Someone would come up to me after Mass to compliment my song leading, and if it didn’t seem like they knew who I was I would say, “I’m Paul White’s daughter.” I was always so proud to make that fact known. 

 

By the way, Mom, I have equal pride in telling people “I am Jo White’s daughter.”  When we worked together at Springwell and someone new joined our staff, I always wanted them to know of our connection, hoping they’d see even a glimmer of your kindness and dedication reflected in me.

My parents set out a path for me, not by putting pressure on me or imposing their own dreams for me, but simply by modeling a deeply meaningful and loving life together.  It’s no accident that I want to be a social worker like Mom, and a musician like Dad. And a parent like both of them.  Somehow they managed to teach me how to be uniquely myself while I simultaneously followed right in their footsteps.

You all know my Dad passed down the gift of music to me but you may not know he also passed down a talent and love of writing, and respect for the power of words and language, although music really is a language too.  One way we shared our gift of writing was through cards.  Those of you who know me well know that I am incapable of signing a simple, “Love, Maria” to a greeting card and instead must write a novel detailing the specific love I feel for the receiver on that particular occasion.  Dan and I got that from our parents, who are both beautiful writers, deep thinkers and believers in proclaiming love at all times. Every occasion was a perfect excuse to pour our hearts out to each other in a card and articulate once again-but in new words-the love and gratitude we carried within our relationship.

 

I have here the card I wrote for Dad this past Father’s Day, his first Father’s Day as a grandfather.  I would like to share it with all of you.

 

Happy First Father's Day as a Papa!

I'm glad to be singing with you at church this weekend.  There's truly nothing I love more than blending our voices together.  I thought "Stand By Me" sounded perfect yesterday.  Speaking of which, thank you for standing by me through all of my storms.  You have taught me everything I know about unconditional love.  The sacrifices you have made and continue to make are clearer to me-and more appreciated than ever-now that I'm a parent, too.  I love all of the things we share in common, both good and bad, because they have made me the woman I am today, someone I am very proud to be.  I have found meaning and contentment with many of the same things you have: music, deep reflection, hard work, family, writing, and course, the healing powers of a good cup of coffee.  I love you and I'm so glad Nina has you for a Papa! Love always, Maria

And then I added,

 

Sunday, 1:30pm.  Additional thoughts- Watching you directing the choir today (specifically during the Gloria for some reason) I had a realization: You treat everything you do as though it's IMPORTANT, as though it's the first time.  How many thousands of times have you conducted a Gloria, and yet today you continued to give it your all.  I realized just how much I've learned about the value of hard work from you.  It leads to excellence and truly gives "Glory to God." Just had to add that.

In a society that likes to pretend men are void of emotion, my Dad courageously showed vulnerability, sensitivity, love, and affection to me and my brother Daniel.  He taught us how to love well.  He has always been proud of us, in the truest, purest, and simplest sense.  He was a man of incredible strength even in the face of severe chronic pain which he gracefully endured daily for many years.

Many of you may know Paul as a serious musician, but he was also a fun-loving goofball who embraced authentic joy every chance he got.  He loved a good play on words and had an ironic sense of humor.  He cherished the time he spent with his family, his brothers and cousins and their families, as well as his choir, which was a second family to him.  They not only helped him achieve his dream of making beautiful music but were also a source of laughter and joy.  We are so grateful for their presence here today.

When I was little, I was in the car with my parents listening to the radio and I asked my father, "Dad, what are those other notes they're singing?"  He explained to me that they were harmonies to the melody.  I'm not sure I understood what he meant at the time, but as I grew up I often found myself picking up on the harmonies in the songs I listened to and preferring to sing those notes.

 

There's something wonderful about embracing and trusting in those "other notes," even if they don't always come out right.  Being one of life’s harmonies also acknowledges the need for others in the song.  My Dad taught me that you don’t need to be center stage in order to shine your light.  You can exude the fullness of harmony, you can be those other notes of the song and find even more meaning in your life than you would have otherwise found.  I think he would tell me now is a time of bravely singing new notes and trusting they will create a powerful song.

 

My daughter Nina’s birth was an affirmation of faith for all of us, but especially for my Dad.  Her existence provided him with moments of healing and experiences of spiritual revelation and deepening wisdom.  It was so clear to him that she came directly from God.  He even expressed to my Mom that Nina helped solidify his belief in Heaven.  I hope in his final moments on Earth he remembered that, and knew he was about to return home to his Father.  Dad, we lovingly place you in God’s arms now.  It is well with my soul.

 

My Top Ten Pieces of Advice for New Moms

The "fourth trimester" is complete!  Nina is twelve weeks old this past Sunday.  She wiggles deeper and deeper into our hearts every day!

When she was born, I decided my goal would be to blog at least once per month so I'd be able to release my thoughts, lessons, revelations, developments and stress during this new parental whirlwind.  Didn’t quite meet my June goal, but did start writing this entry in June, so that counts, right?  During my free moments this past month I've been sneaking cat naps, a few pages of reading (Gone Girl at the moment), a quick sandwich or cup of coffee, or a relaxing shower.  When I have longer periods of time to myself (by the grace of Nina's Daddy, Nonni, Papa and/or Uncle Dan), I've been sweating out stress and shaking off exhaustion at Zumba class or jamming at rehearsal with the New Roads Orchestra.  It's been challenging but also enjoyable for me to have my weekend "gigs" at church as a wedding singer, cantor, and band member, which allow me to pick up a little extra money and soak in the peace of a spiritual setting, as well as provide me with a musical outlet and the ability to utilize my non-Mommy gifts--especially now that I've officially quit my regular job.  Though surreal, I am embracing my new identity as stay-at-home-Mom during the week and professional musician on the weekends! 

Nina and I have been enjoying our days together.  When she isn't crying, eating, spitting up, pooping, or learning to giggle, we go for long walks on the bike path, visit our favorite bakery coffee shop, or sit by the pond.  As of last week we also started attending "Making Music Praying Twice" for babies and toddlers!

Now that the first three months are behind us, I am (somewhat) able to reflect upon what it was like to bring home and care for a newborn baby, the experience made hazy by sleep deprivation, stress, and what has felt like a magical personal transformation.  I feel as though I've been walking on clouds and living in an alternate universe these last twelve weeks.  In some ways I can compare it to being fuzzily intoxicated, an overwhelmed but giddy kind of drunk.  I am the happy hammered girl who wants to be everyone's friend, is uninhibited, carefree and confident in what I can only hope is an endearing sort of way...always just moments away from completely passing out.

If such a girl can be trusted at all (humor me), here is the start of my hot-off-the press, brand-new-Mommy advice and guide for surviving the first 4-6 weeks of parenthood.

1) Keeping a loose grip on [fill-in-the-blank...everything except faith] is key.  In the beginning, absolutely everything is going to be trial and error, so you cannot keep a tight grasp on any preconceived ideas or anything you try initially.  If one thing doesn't work, adjust or try something new entirely without overanalyzing.  Judging yourself (or your partner for that matter) during this process is a waste of time and energy, both of which are in ridiculously short supply, so don't even bother being anything but kind to yourself.

2) Do what you can, little by little.  Your entire understanding of how quickly and efficiently something “should” progress will be turned on its head.  Patience as a new parent (and especially a breastfeeding Mom) is a patience all its own.  (For that matter, the entire process requires a unique kind of patience from the moment you decide to become a parent -- first attempting to conceive and then experiencing pregnancy, labor and delivery, followed by postpartum recovery and nursing.)  Expect everything in the first 2+ weeks to take notably longer than usual.  Even something as simple as a shower will take you double the normal amount of time because of sleep deprivation and your mind being overloaded.  You won’t be able to process thoughts as efficiently and therefore won’t be able to perform tasks the way you normally would and within the timeframe to which you’ve been accustomed.  Remember that every obstacle you face is temporary and will absolutely improve with time and practice.

3) You will need to find a balance between “seizing the day” and patiently waiting for things to happen in their time.  This is a perpetual challenge and certainly a natural stumbling block, so when in doubt, just try to stay in the present moment. 

4) Feelings are just visitors—let them come and go.  The range of emotions as a brand new parent is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I’m a pretty emotional person!  Give yourself permission to feel your feelings without dwelling on them.  Also give your partner permission to do the same.  You will both need some “free passes” in the emotion department. 

5) You need all of your energy to go into caring for your child and for yourself.  There is no time or space for self-judgment or ridicule and it is irresponsible to waste valuable energy on those practices.  I’ve found that self-love and self-encouragement is the most responsible path to take as a parent.

6) Put an auto-response on your email/voicemail/texts.  I was not prepared to feel so overwhelmed by people wanting to talk and visit in the first few weeks.  I put a huge amount of pressure on myself to make everyone feel included, updated, in the loop, and happy.  I also somehow expected myself to continue to meet others’ needs and be there for friends and family as I normally would.  I thought once I had a baby it would just feel natural to focus on my needs and her needs; looking ahead during pregnancy, it seemed so obvious that I would need to focus on our tiny family in the beginning.  But lack of sleep and being utterly overwhelmed weakens your ability to rationalize.  Under other circumstances I might have been able to tell myself, “Maria, this is a unique time of need for you, so you cannot take care of other people’s feelings right now and that’s okay.”  Under other circumstances I might have been able to take that to heart.  But my emotions were so heightened and irrational in those first weeks, dictated by drastic hormonal shifts and sleep deprivation, that all I could seem to take to heart was overwhelming guilt, sorrow, anger and resentment towards others who either simply couldn’t understand what I was going through due to lack of their own experience having children, or only had my best interest in mind and didn’t expect me to get back to them when they reached out. 

I wasn’t prepared to need so much physical recovery time myself, nevermind emotional space and understanding.  In addition to coping with physical concerns (such as bleeding for five weeks postpartum—um, yeah, didn’t know that was a possibility!), I had to grieve the loss of my previous sense of identity and adjust to my brand new life role. 

All to say that if you’re like me and think you might have trouble basically ignoring people in those early days, I would recommend putting an auto-response on all forms of communication you typically use.  (Note: There are apps you can purchase for smart phones that will enable you to set up an auto-response for your text messages.)  You can craft a message that feels comfortable to you and expresses what you wish you could say to all those people who want to be a part of this most important time in your life.

Here’s a sample one:

“Hi, thanks for calling/writing.  Nina Anastasia was born on April 5^th weighing 7 pounds, 3 ounces.  Thanks for all your messages!  We love you all.  We’re enjoying the Babymoon for a few weeks but we’ll be in touch as soon as we come up for air!”

7) Assert your right for education about postpartum issues.  There are many problems with the health care system in our country, but certainly one of them is that doctors do not seem to have the time to get into postpartum education with their OBGYN patients, seeming to depend on the hospital workers to impart that vital information after delivery.  In a way, that seems reasonable since during prenatal visits there’s already enough to talk about regarding pregnancy, but relying on a two day hospital stay to provide all postnatal education is unrealistic and irresponsible, especially since nowadays many new parents “room in” with their newborns and therefore do not get any sleep while in the hospital.  I was not in any position to learn everything I needed to learn about what I might experience in my body in the first six weeks postpartum: what was normal, what would be concerning, etc.  In those unimaginably quick two days in the hospital, I was recovering from a postpartum hemorrhage, receiving antibiotics, trying to breastfeed every 1-2 hours, and filling out birth certificate paperwork in the middle of the night (while also putting pressure on myself to respond to texts and calls!!! WHAT???!).  I would recommend that women and their partners ask for a postpartum educational visit with their OBGYN in the final weeks of pregnancy.  If you’re too exhausted and/or overwhelmed and emotional to take in this information (can’t imagine why that would be, at nine months pregnant!), bring your partner with you to take notes for you.  Significant swelling of the feet, body temperature regulation issues (aka, waking up freezing cold, shaking, and unable to get warm), ongoing bleeding and lack of desire to eat were just a few of the experiences I had in my body that I was unaware could happen after giving birth.  If they offer to send you home with an order for a visiting nurse, ACCEPT IT— even if you think you won’t need it.  You can always cancel the visit if you want to, but it’s very likely you’ll be glad for the additional support.  Mine was just a brief visit a couple of days after coming home from the hospital, but it was a huge help.

8) At first you may not be able to sleep even “when the baby sleeps.”  I had a ton of adrenaline pulsing through me in those first two weeks.  The first week, I literally refused to sleep—not because I wasn’t exhausted, but because I felt wired and anxious.  When the loved ones around me insisted I sleep, I would become very upset and irritable because I didn’t have the internal calm I needed to rest.  I also had a complete lack of desire to eat which didn’t help in the useful energy department. Every time my body became hungry, I felt anxious and upset because I didn’t want to eat anything.  I wasn’t expecting either of those problems and it was alarming. If this happens to you, hang in there and know it will pass.  You will start to be able to sleep for an hour at a time and then the time will gradually lengthen.  Eat your absolute favorite foods, even just a couple of bites.  I ate Doritos, M&Ms, and bagels… it was better than nothing.  Your baby will get the nutrition he or she needs from your milk regardless.  After a couple of weeks you should be able to tolerate other foods.

9) DO NOT WORRY ABOUT LOSING THE BABY WEIGHT IN THE FIRST THREE MONTHS.  Don’t even factor it in.  Your body just went through hell in order to produce a miracle, and will continue to be miraculous as you recover and breastfeed.  Why would you punish it by insisting that it revert to an unattainable ideal, or even your version of normal, in the first twelve weeks?  Even if you had the time and energy to do so it’s unadvisable to exercise in the first six weeks anyway, so how on earth would one even begin to “get in shape”?  Think about it.  Treat your body like the temple it is and laugh off anyone’s comments about your body.  (Or if you have the energy, educate them about self-love and respect for women’s bodies.)

10) Snuggle that baby.  As I have read and heard from countless sources, you cannot “spoil” your baby in the early days.  So snuggle away!

Nina in her first weeks at home :-)

From the Glorious Trenches

It's hard to believe I am seven weeks postpartum! (When I started this entry, I was in my fifth week… welcome to the busy life of caring for a newborn.)  In some ways, it feels like it's gone by in the blink of an eye, and in other ways I can't even bring life before Nina into focus in my mind.

I don't even know where to start.  I suppose I'd like to record the rest of my labor experience before delving into post-delivery news and thoughts.  My labor can be divided into three separate experiences, which were all memorably challenging (yes, aka, horribly painful!), life changing, and spiritually transformative.  I hold gratitude for all of them.  The first was my labor at home: managing and tracking contractions for much of the day and the entire night on April 4th and early morning April 5th.  The second was my labor and delivery at the hospital, and the third was my postpartum hemorrhage.  Throughout the entire labor and birthing process I would say there were no fewer than five significant curveballs that my husband and I handled: 1. Admission issue, 2. Baby’s heart rate issue and subsequent need for epidural (potential emergency C-section scare),  3. Continued heart rate issue and subsequent need for 1x use of vacuum during pushing, 4. Presence of moderate meconium, 5. Postpartum hemorrhage and re-stitching without helpful effects of epidural.

(If you read my previous entry, you already know about #1-- my admission to the hospital was rather tumultuous, which was completely unexpected.  I thought going to the hospital would be the easy part.)

As I described in my previous post, I started having mild contractions early Saturday morning.  I woke up with what felt like menstrual cramps and seriously craving cinnamon French toast.  I had made plans with my good friend Katie to have brunch at our regular weekend spot that morning and couldn't bring myself to believe a) I was really in labor (on my actual due date!), and b) I might have to miss having breakfast and my usual latte.  As I lay awake in those early morning hours carefully paying attention to what my body was doing, I started to feel a little excited but also didn’t want to make too much out of it because I’d been having some other early labor signs earlier in the week and they hadn’t amounted to the birth of a baby! (I’d been “passing the mucus plug”—quite possibly the grossest term in the world—little by little throughout the week, and had also been feeling nauseated.)

After twiddling my thumbs (and taking long, luxurious naps) for the previous two weeks while off of work using vacation days, I just didn’t believe that I was going to give birth that day.  I had convinced myself this baby would never actually introduce herself to us; it all felt too surreal.  I was so excited for Baby Girl’s arrival, in fact too excited and anxious for my own good, and to balance things out my mind was tricking me into thinking I’d be pregnant forever.

All of this meant that at 8:04am I texted Katie:

“OK, feel free to say no but how would you feel about meeting earlier than we planned?  I’ve started to have mild cramps…POSSIBLY contractions…irregular…but I still really want French toast and to see you.”

Seven weeks later we’re laughing about this, and I have a feeling we’ll continue to do so for many years to come as we look back on Nina’s arrival.  Contractions or no contractions, I needed my breakfast and my dear friend.  If Nina’s anything like me when she grows up, she’ll be able to understand!

I made it through a delicious brunch with nothing more than occasional discomfort and then came home to rest and read on the couch.  It wasn’t long before I started to feel sick… so began episodes of diarrhea and nausea.  I decided to lie down and try to nap, which I did until I was rudely awakened by what definitely felt like a real contraction.  During the late afternoon and evening I continued to feel contractions and they started getting more intense and somewhat more consistent. Galo and I were timing the contractions and getting numbers anywhere from five to ten minutes apart.  My water hadn’t broken but I was paranoid and kept wondering if maybe it had!  We decided to take a walk down the street to the corner store to help manage the pain, hopefully move things along, and of course, buy more snacks for the hospital as I had already broken into our saved stash.  I had to laugh when the store owner, seeing I was pregnant, offered us congratulations and asked when I was due! 

At that point, the only people I’d alerted were my parents and my matron of honor, Angela.  I didn’t want anyone else to know because I was afraid we’d start getting bombarded with calls and texts asking for minute-by-minute labor updates.  While at the store I got a text from Angela giving me the head’s up that somehow the news had been leaked: she received a text from someone asking, “Did you hear? Maria’s having contractions”… ah, the wonders of growing up in a small town!

When we got back from our walk, my mother and brother (soon-to-be Nonni and Uncle Dan) were at our apartment to offer their company and support.  Mom helped record contractions as I painfully bounced around on an exercise ball and Daniel searched the web for Easter-appropriate middle names for his niece, helping us to settle on Anastasia. 

By 9:30pm my contractions were increasing in intensity and regularity and I was dying to get the show on the road and head to the hospital.  I knew the doctor would want me to wait until “5-1-1” to call, but I had been told I tested positive for Group B Strep and that it would be important to receive antibiotics at least four hours prior to delivery, so I was hoping that would be my ticket to come in earlier than was typical.  (Boy, was I wrong.)  I called the on-call doctor who said since I was a first-time mom I had tons of labor ahead of me (not exactly what I wanted to hear!).  She advised me to take a warm shower, drink some tea, and try to relax… no comment.

So Mom and Dan headed home.  And so commenced the longest, most painful night of my life.  Looking back, I remember from our birthing class that one way to tell you’re in active labor is that you aren’t able to sleep through contractions.  Well… I was up the entire night and there was NO way I could have fallen or stayed asleep.  We deliriously timed the contractions all night long and kept getting numbers anywhere from four to eleven minutes apart.  It was crazy-making.  We would start out a new hour with three contractions four or five minutes apart, and then they would jump to six or seven minutes apart.  I would have torn my hair out if I wasn’t already in enough pain. 

By 6:00am Easter morning we had recorded just about a full hour of contractions five minutes apart.  Amidst hugs and high-fives I called the doctor again, utterly overjoyed to be just about ready to head to the hospital (or so I thought… see previous entry for the rest of that story!).

I was admitted to the hospital around 10:00am with my amazing birthing team: Mom, Galo, and baby Nina, just seven hours away from being born.  I was thrilled to hear I was already five centimeters dilated and 80% effaced when they examined me in Triage.  We hunkered down in the delivery room and met my incredible L&D nurse, Katherine.  Kind, empathetic, and humorous are just three of the positive adjectives I can use to describe Katherine.  My heart is full of gratitude thinking about how God paired us up with her that fateful Easter.  I felt like she was my gift for having had faith in God all throughout my pregnancy. 

He knew I had a potentially upsetting labor and delivery ahead of me.  As soon as I was hooked up to the fetal heart monitor, they observed that Nina’s heart rate wasn’t bouncing back up effectively enough after each contraction and they couldn’t be sure why.  It could have been that she was clutching the umbilical cord in her tiny hand, the cord was wrapped around her ankle, or any number of other scenarios.  They said they would have to monitor her closely and I would have to remain immobilized on my side until things hopefully straightened out. The presence of a seemingly moderate amount of meconium also complicated matters.  It wasn’t likely, but an emergency C-section wasn’t out of the question.  The thought of that possibility was heartbreaking after enduring so many hours of labor and already clearing so many emotional hurdles.

But somehow, I didn’t panic.  Maybe I was distracted by the pain of the contractions.  Maybe I couldn’t completely focus on the information due to being totally sleep deprived. Or maybe it was just a miraculous experience of calm faith, knowing fear served no purpose in that moment.  All I could do was embrace the task at hand and trust God to deliver me from my anxiety and pain through the delivery of His child.  No matter what happened, it was my responsibility to accept God’s will for our daughter and to do what I could with what I was given.

What I was given… was a whole lot of pain.  It was terrible having to stay on my side.  At my birthing class I learned about all sorts of natural pain management tools and was eager to use any and all of them, but really couldn’t under the circumstances.  I had planned to be moving around, changing position, using the tub and birthing ball, etc.  But I had to stay put.  Things became so unbearable that the doctor came by and started to launch into, “I would really recommend an epidural at this point; it doesn’t mean you’re weak or less of a woman, it’s just…” To which I quickly interrupted: “You don’t need to convince me!  I’m convinced!”  I had never planned to reject an epidural if it was needed. I just wanted to see how things went and did want to challenge myself to use natural methods first.  But most of those were off the table as I writhed around in pain in one single position!  I have always been a fan of quick, reasonable decisions, and this was one of them.

Once the decision was made I couldn’t get the epidural fast enough.  Fortunately my hospital always has an anesthesiologist on site and he was great.  And the epidural?  FANTASTIC.  I could still tell when a contraction was coming on, but the difference was like night and day.  Talk about gratitude.  All I could think about was, What did women DO before this was an option?!

Around 3:30pm I was ten centimeters and ready to push (although my body seemed to feel ready to push even before then which was an odd—and unpleasant— feeling).  The doctor (Dr. Parent… how perfect!) coached me through my first couple of pushes and then said that it’s normal for first time Moms to push for up to three hours, so she’d be back later.  I hoped and prayed it wouldn’t take that long!  (And it didn’t… Nina was born after pushing for about an hour and a half.)

I soon learned that pushing is hard work, epidural or no epidural.  But Katherine, Mom, and Galo were wonderful cheerleaders (supportive but not obnoxious).  I chose to believe Katherine when she told me that she had women who came in saying they ran marathons who didn’t push as effectively as I did.  She called me an “athlete,” which will probably forever change the definition of that word for me. 

But despite all my best efforts, Nina wasn’t arriving quickly enough for their liking.  Dr. Parent came back and said that although I was doing a great job, the baby’s heart rate still wasn’t where they wanted it and therefore she needed to be delivered as soon as possible.  I agreed to the use of a vacuum, and thankfully they only had to use it once in order for it to be helpful.  Katherine assured me that if Nina’s heart rate hadn’t been an issue that I would definitely have been able to deliver her successfully on my own without the help of a vacuum.   


And then, at 5:03pm, it happened.  Nina Anastasia entered the world.  Because of the meconium issue, the pediatrician scooped her up to examine her and I had to wait to officially meet my girl.  I was impatient but also delirious from the extreme pain of the final pushes and the overwhelming emotions that followed.  Relief, disbelief, joy, pride, GRATITUDE.  And then when I finally had her, skin-to-skin: tears of love.  Powerful, unconditional, utterly selfless, timeless, limitless.  Love. 

Time stood still.  I was more myself in that moment than I have ever been.  What I mean is, I was my real self.  The self who knows I deserve love, compassion, and gentleness.  The self who believes in good and doesn’t fear the unknown.   The self with bottomless capacity for creativity and wisdom.  The self who understands the full scope of her strength and embraces it with unapologetic pride.  That self took her first real breaths as Nina breathed hers.

**

As we drove home from the hospital two days later, Galo in the driver’s seat, me in the backseat with our brand new daughter, the song “Thousand Years” came on the radio.  We were instantly transported back to our wedding day two autumns ago, flooded with the memory of me singing the song to him at our reception.  That particular song had felt like the right choice, but at the time I wasn’t entirely sure why.  But on that car ride home, prayerful tears streaming down my face, I finally understood the song’s meaning. 

Time stands still
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything take away what's standing in front of me
Every breath, every hour has come to this

One step closer

I have died every day, waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

And all along I believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

Love is timeless.  God is timeless.  My love for Galo has always existed, long before I knew him, long before either of us was even born.  And Nina has always existed.  Right now she is on loan to us, and God’s love enables us to be up for the challenge and to fully experience the joy she brings us. 

Because of Him, I am a mother.  Because of Him, I am brave. 

Welcome to the World, Nina Anastasia!

Our miracle Nina Anastasia arrived on April 5th, Easter Sunday.  We decided to change her middle name to one that means "resurrection" in honor of Easter and all the blessings that new life and new beginnings hold.  She is a gift from God, a dream come true. She was born at 5:03pm and was 7 lbs 3 oz, 19 inches.

I am eager to share the amazing story of my labor and the delivery of Nina, as well as the many stories we already have just in these last two weeks postpartum.  However, due to lack of energy/time I will just start out by copying & pasting the feedback I'm including with the hospital survey regarding the first curveball of the day on April 5th. (I'm excluding specific hospital/doctor/nurse info.)

April 18, 2015

Re: Admissions Process

I am choosing to share my story in this amount of detail in the hopes that this won’t happen to another soon-to-be-mom and patient of Mt X.  Once admitted my experience was extremely positive and I am endlessly grateful that I was able to come in when all was said and done, but the stress of initially being told I would have to go to another hospital (due to "lack of space" for me at Mt X) was traumatic and started my birthing process off on an unnecessarily emotional note.

I began having mild contractions on Saturday morning, April 4^th, around 6:30am.  They were very sporadic throughout the morning and early afternoon, though I was also experiencing other signs of early labor, such as passing the mucus plug and episodes of diarrhea and nausea.  During the late afternoon and evening they started getting more intense and somewhat more consistent.  By 9:30pm they were continuing to become more intense and were getting more regular.  I was timing the contractions and was getting numbers anywhere from 5-10 minutes apart.  My water had not broken.  I know it’s typical to wait until “5-1-1” to call the hospital, but I had been told I tested positive for Group B Strep and that it would be important to receive antibiotics at least 4 hours prior to delivery, so I called the on-call doctor at 9:30pm Saturday night and spoke with Dr H.   She said my contractions weren’t consistent enough to warrant coming in, regardless of being Group B Strep positive.  She said since I was a first-time mom there was little to no chance they would miss the antibiotic window.** She advised me to take a warm shower, drink some tea, and try to relax.

I was up the entire night with increasingly painful contractions.  I could not sleep through them.  My husband and I timed the contractions all night long and kept getting numbers anywhere from 4—11 minutes apart.  It was extremely frustrating.  We would start out a new hour with three contractions 4 or 5 minutes apart, and then they would jump to 6 or 7 mins apart.  I was in a lot of pain.  By 6:00am Sunday morning April 5^th (Easter Sunday), we recorded just about a full hour of contractions 5 minutes apart.  I couldn’t wait any longer and called Dr H again, overjoyed to be just about ready to head to the hospital (or so I thought). 

However, when I informed Dr H of the status of things, she told me that there were no available rooms for me and that I would have to go to another hospital.  I was in shock.  My OB is Dr W, I had participated in a day-long birthing class at the hospital, went on a tour of the Birthing Center, and attended a “Meet the Doctors” night.  Mt X was where I had always planned to deliver and was the hospital I had counted upon. 

I asked if I could at least come into Triage at Mt X and she said no.  I mentioned that at the “Meet the Doctors” night someone had asked if there could ever be a scenario in which a Mt X patient would be turned away from Labor & Delivery due to shortage of rooms; they had said no, that space would be made.  Dr H still insisted there was no room for me. She did not offer sympathy or regret for my situation or reassure me that my records would be sent to another hospital to ensure I received the best care possible.  I began to cry and gave the phone to my husband.  He tried to get more information and was finally told that they would call us back in about an hour to let us know if there was any room for us at that time.

(It later occurred to us that the issue was likely not that there weren’t available rooms, but that there wasn’t enough available staff due to the Easter holiday.  Once on the postpartum unit around 5:30pm that evening, we noticed several free rooms, which we had been told could be used as L&D rooms in the event of a room shortage.  The shortage of staff would also explain why Dr H was telling us I couldn’t even come into Triage to be examined.)

While waiting for Dr H’s return call, we tried to wrap our minds around the distinct possibility of having to get ready to go deliver at another hospital.  Dr H called us back in about an hour and a half and said in another 30 minutes or so we could contact nurse Kathy to inquire about the possibility of coming in.  When we called Kathy, she confirmed we could come in.  By the time I arrived at Triage around 10:00am and was examined, I was 5cm dilated and 80% effaced.  Once on L&D, apologies were offered to us “for the mix-up.”

**I was later told in L&D it’s possible I could have missed the antibiotic window after all; I really needed to come in eight hours prior to delivery, not four, because I needed two doses in order for the antibiotics to be maximally effective.  I was in L&D from approximately 10:30am-5:03pm when I delivered my daughter (about seven hours).

As I said, once admitted my experience was extremely positive, especially with L&D nurse Katherine, postpartum nurse Stacy, and Dr P who delivered our daughter and took care of me when I had a postpartum hemorrhage.  If I hadn’t been permitted to come to Mt X, I would have missed out on the excellent care I received there.  In the future, please make sure you have adequate staffing on holidays to avoid putting patients in this position.

The Other Notes

Ooommm... Monday morning of my second week off of work.  I did a few dishes, took a shower, got dressed, made the bed, started two loads of laundry, wrote a grocery list, kissed my husband goodbye and ate a lovely breakfast of pineapple, cantaloupe, grapes, banana, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, coffee and a tall glass of water, all before 9:30am.  Not bad for a girl who's about to pop!  (Of course, now I'm ready to go back to bed...)

I thought I'd be compelled to write last week during my first official week at home, but as it turns out, I was compelled to sleep.  Sleep, nest, eat, rest, repeat.

Now it really is just a waiting game.  I'm trying to find the balance between enjoying this relaxing time free from my regular responsibilities and preparing for my life to be turned utterly upside-down.  It's a tricky place to find mentally, especially when I have no idea when this little munchkin is going to actually arrive!

However, one thing's for sure: Even though I feel a little lost and strange not going to work (and not knowing how long this pre-baby time period will last...will she come this week, or not for another two...or longer?!), it was the right decision for me to choose March 20th as my last work day.  In my previous position as a case manager for the elderly, which was a very high-stress job prone to burn out, I attended a workshop about self-care and compassion fatigue and one particular concept from that day has stayed with me since:  the concept that it is actually less selfish to bow out of responsibilities when you start to have a negative attitude and/or are becoming burnt out.  Removing responsibilities from your plate is actually kinder and more beneficial to the people around you than sticking it out past your breaking point.  When you're bitter about something, the best thing to do is get distance from it.  Of course, depending on the situation, this isn't always possible, but in situations where it is possible it's definitely the way to go.  I saw what my previous job was doing to me and thankfully had enough insight to see that I was no longer going to be able to serve my clients and colleagues effectively if I stayed; I was also blessed to be supported by my then-fiance and had the option to pursue another path.

Although the reasons for parting with my current job are very different, I could see that pushing myself right up until my due date would not be beneficial to anyone.  Between the commute and chaos of the office, I was reaching my limit.  I resented waddling out to the waiting room to bring a patient into my office to talk about helping them find a therapist.  Hopefully this wasn't apparent to them, but even if it wasn't I felt guilty about it.  I didn't want to feel resentful of people who needed my help.  Similarly, I felt confident that I should take a step back from my cantoring/band commitments at church around the same time that I left work.  Because I value my musical outlets so much, part of me selfishly wanted to stick it out a few more weeks even though I was becoming bitter about certain aspects of my involvement as a band member and even as a parishioner.  But gratefully, a larger part of me knew enough to remove myself from the equation until a time when I can be more fully present as a peaceful and joyful contributor to the project.

I know that change, even positive or exciting change (like bringing a child into the world!) involves loss of some kind and can be painful.  This time right now for me is about being aware of that struggle while welcoming the unknown and letting go of certain crutches that don't have a place in my new life as a mother.  This is a time of risk-taking, of bravely singing new notes and trusting they will create a powerful song.

When I was young, I was in the car with my parents listening to the radio and I asked my musician father, "Dad, what are those other notes they're singing?"  He explained to me that those notes were harmonies to the melody.  I'm not sure I understood what he meant at the time, but as I grew up I often found myself picking up on the harmonies in the songs I listened to and preferring to sing those notes.  Since joining the band, I have even begun to trust in my natural ability to harmonize on the spot.

There's something wonderful about embracing those "other notes," even if they don't always come out right.  Something wonderful about being those other notes in life, the ones that make the song even more beautiful.  Being the harmony also acknowledges the need for others in the song.  I hope I can teach my daughter that she doesn't need to be centerstage to shine her light.  She can exude the fullness of harmony, she can be those other notes of the song and find even more meaning in her life than she would have otherwise found always being the melody.  That's what my parents taught me.  I dedicate this blog post to them, but especially to my father-- Thank You for the Music.

Play the Ball Where the Monkey Drops It

Galo: Thank you for doing the dishes.
Me: No problem, babe.  Thanks for getting the groceries.

This is a rather typical exchange between me and my husband.  I don't usually think much about it, but when we said these words to each other the other night, I thought, "Wow.  Together for six and a half years and we still make sure not to take each other for granted."  We have a real partnership and so much of it is grounded in gratitude.  It makes me happy to think that someday our children will witness us having interactions of this nature, casual but appreciative.  It reminds me of a phrase we incorporated into our wedding vows: "I take you for better or worse, but not for granted."

It's very easy to take people and life circumstances for granted.  For me, it sometimes feels like I need to take certain things for granted because otherwise I would constantly be questioning the "security" of my blessings and feeling anxious.  At some point, I find it necessary to settle into my version of "normal," while at the same time trying to being as open as I can be to change.  It doesn't necessarily mean you're taking something or someone for granted just because you allow yourself the luxury of enjoying its presence in the now.  (It has taken me some time to realize that, similar to the way it has taken me years to come to believe that it's permissible to hope for-- and even assume-- the best outcome.) 

When I posted my last entry at the end of January, I had no way of knowing what February 2015 would hold (tons of snow) and the gratitude challenges it would present!  It was a rough month, which is why I couldn't bring myself to write during that time, although in retrospect writing and venting would probably have helped.  If my information is up-to-date, we are a mere couple of inches away from a record-breaking winter of snow, which was dumped on us all in the span of basically one month.  It's been a tough time to be pregnant, specifically pregnant and someone who commutes via public transportation.  Initially I was overjoyed to be avoiding the heat of summer while pregnant, but I quickly learned that winters in New England (along with Massachusetts public transit) are not a recipe for prenatal happiness either.  Since this is my first pregnancy, it's difficult for me to know if my third trimester would still have been this emotionally trying if the weather had been more cooperative (and if people around me were less irritated with life themselves and able to have more compassion for a pregnant lady trying to get from point A to point B!).  Either way, the general sense of calm I enjoyed and took so much pride in has been much more of a challenge to achieve in this final trimester.  I have been more anxious, but that's been the most manageable concern-- the irritability, anger and frustration have been the real problem!  I've reached the end of my rope multiple times.  I suppose that it's good practice for motherhood though... I'm sure to reach the end of my rope repeatedly and now I know I can get to that point and still find a way to carry on, usually with at least some trace of grace.

It's been disconcerting to me to feel so angry sometimes because I'm not used to it and I feel guilty about it, especially now that we're in the season of Lent and I feel like I should be extra-grateful and reflective.  But there's no way around it: this year is a different ballgame!  I can only be as grateful and reflective as my hormones and energy allow.  It is often necessary for me to turn my brain off and just be.  As someone who draws meaning and motivation from the pursuit of insight and wisdom, I've had to learn to have faith that those moments of clarity will still come-- I just can't force them during the times I simply have to survive.  If I try to, that will only increase my frustration and set off a vicious cycle.

These final weeks of pregnancy (hard to believe I'm 35 weeks, and yet I could not be more ready...) have also forced me to be more assertive and make myself and my needs a priority.  I always knew I was someone who tended toward taking care of others, but I don't think I ever realized just how deep that goes until now.  I'm now realizing that it's not just that I want to care for others, I don't want to inconvenience others, and there's a big difference.  I've gained practice reality-checking with my husband about what I can and can't handle and what is reasonable for him to ask of me.  (To be fair, this is his first pregnancy too and he doesn't necessarily know what my limitations are.)  I've had to blatantly tell strangers on the bus that I need their seat.  I've set boundaries with the musicians I work with at church as I try to navigate my participation in a new spiritual project.  I've wrestled with others' opinions about what my future as a parent should look like and have made peace with the fact that not everyone is going to agree with my choices.  One of the hardest settings for me to be assertive continues to be my doctors' offices, but I'm working on it for the sake of my health and my baby's well-being.

I've even had to be be assertive with myself at times, for example, when I'm looking in the mirror and judging myself for...what?  Looking pregnant?  Being "unattractive"?  In those moments, I take a deep breath, allow myself no more than a minute or two to feel upset, and then assertively think, "Nope.  I'm not doing this.  I'm not putting myself down when my body, mind and spirit are working this hard to bring a child into the world."

I've been assertive with myself when my worry starts to gain momentum, when all of a sudden I'm resisting change, questioning my decisions, struggling with the fact that it will no longer just be the two of us, wondering what my relationship with my daughter will be like, worrying that she won't be safe and happy in her life...  During those times, I've tried to remind myself that worrying and trying to predict or control the future is a waste of energy, time, and passion.  Worrying truly is like praying for an outcome you do not want.  Prayer is an investment in what is ultimately good.  Worry is an investment in something else entirely. 

A wise influence in my life recently advised me to "Play the ball where the monkey drops it."  Once the English had colonized India they yearned for recreation and built a golf course in Calcutta.  They were then faced with a unique obstacle.  Monkeys would drop out of the trees, scurry across the course, and seize the golf balls.  They would play with them, tossing them here and there.  At first, the golfers tried to control the monkeys, but finally they gave into reality and developed a rather novel ground rule:  Play the ball where the monkey drops it.