Blond moment (apologies to those who are blond(e))

So, my dh just called me.

'You will not believe what has happened to me!! It's the stupidest thing ever!!' he said. 'I am at the store and i just put the groceries in the back of the trunk and i closed the trunk and i heard it lock and then i went to unlock the door and i can't do it because the clicker thing has FALLEN OFF the keychain and it is locked in the trunk and now i am standing on the parking lot and the clicker is locked in the trunk and....'

Here he stops.

'Wait a minute...'

'The key is in my hand. I can just *unlock* the door.'

Silence on his end of the line, hysterical laughter on my end....

'Gee, i guess you don't have to drive out to get me then.'

Birth story -- Chloe

August 31, 2004 -- Background: We moved to Michigan 5 months after Nicolas died, and i became pregnant with C in December of 2003, so 9 months after he died. We had been initially planning to wait longer -- at least the full year -- but i guess we changed our minds, ahem. Anyway i had a new doctor, Dr. B, who was very kind and understanding and willing to follow my lead as far as things went. I credit him with keeping me as sane as possible throughout my pregnancy...it is very important to have a good doctor through a sub pregnancy!

Well, everything was normal with this pregnancy also. I did kick counts religiously this time (nobody ever told me to do kick counts before), and went to l&d to be monitored every now and then when her counts were low or something. Like all of them, she had a definite personality in utero and was a big mover (thankfully!). Dr. B did not want me to go past my due date so i knew that i was going to be induced unless she came on her own. There was some bickering about the due date. I knew the date of conception but i had had a late ovulation so her actual gestation age was a week behind what it should have been from LMP...and the early ultrasound gave us a date squarely in the middle of those two. Still, Dr. B said to keep the date from the LMP because it would be easier to schedule the induction.

So they would have induced me any time after the 38-week mark by LMP, but since i knew it was really 37, i held out for a week more and we were induced at 39+2 (byLMP), on a tuesday.

I had been trying many things to get her to go out by herself, because i did not want to be given Pitocin if i didn't have to. I was going to try for the natural labor again and i thought that if i had the pit drip i probably would not make it. But none of the old wives tales that i dared to try budged C a bit.

My mother came for her birth. This was a bit different than before -- when i was expecting Nicolas she refused to plan to come see him when he was born, and also did not come to his funeral when he died. There was a question of money but there was also a question of some fight that had happened the one time she visited us in Paris -- after which she swore she would never come again. So she did not. But when i found out i was pregnant with C i told her that i would like her to come for the birth, or the funeral if the baby died. Okay, at the time i did not exactly mean for mom to be in the *delivery* room but somehow she took it that way and that became what we planned.

So, we went to the OB's office on monday and they stripped my membranes, and talked about our plan for the induction. I asked that they break my waters first to see if that was going to be enough to start labor. Dr. B agreed -- he said he would break the waters and give it 2 hours, because if labor did not start by then it would not start at all, and then we would proceed with the pitocin. But, he said, labor may start because we stripped your membranes. (which was what i was hoping).

We got home that night and i went for a long walk with mom, thinking this would start things up. In fact i was having contractions fairly regularly. I was all excited, walking around, timing things. It seemed like they were regular around 11 pm. 'Wake up', i said to dh, 'the contractions are regular!! I want to go to the hospital!!' He turned over and said 'Lay down and relax, maybe they will go away...' and he fell back asleep. ARGH men. But i thought he might have a point, if it wasn't really labor i did not want to be in the hospital -- so i had better check. In fact, i laid down and they went away...so i got a few hours sleep.

We woke up at 5:30 or so, we wanted to be at the hospital by 6 -- first in line for my induction!! We were first in line, actually. 'We' means my mother and myself. 'What a husband you have, i cannot believe that you had to drive *yourself* to the hospital to have a baby and he is home in bed', she said. Well, mom, if he had come with me, who would drive A to school at 8? (My mom was too freaked out to do it so dh had to). They monitored me in triage for awhile (C's heartbeat strong, me with not a ghost of a contraction left) and then by 7:00 they brought us into the birthing room. Now *that* is first thing in the morning, thank you very much.

C's room was mauve -- but it was a pretty mauve. Gentle on the eyes. There was a cubbyhole where i put all my stuff (i had smuggled in juice and cookies, in case things took some time to get going, since they refuse to feed you anything but those stupid ice chips). There was a nice window, with a view of...the parking lot. But it was a pretty, bright day, and we watched all the people going back & forth from their cars. There was a tv -- at this hospital there is a tv in front of every bed, in every room. 'Keeps the natives quiet', said dh.

The nurse came in and said 'let me start your IV and then we will put up your pit drip'. 'NO!' said my mom and i in stereo. I explained that they were going to break my water first, she said okay then, the resident will be in to do it soon. I didn't really want it done before dh got there, but i didn't have to worry, since 'soon' was a good hour later. They broke my water around 8 am. The resident had evidently failed to read my chart as she greeted me with this cheerful bedside manner suitable only for dealing with complete airheads. "Are we ready to have this baby today!" I think the look on my face was 'what the HELL have you been smoking lady'. Contractions started almost immediately after the water was broken, and dh made his appearance shortly thereafter. At the time i was dickering with the nurse and some other resident about whether i had to have continuous monitoring or not. They did an initial strip and i made her take it off so i could walk and help the labor proceed. But the resident, wary of lawsuits i suppose, wanted continuous monitoring because 'we did not see any heart accelerations of the baby'. 'We look for two things', said the nurse, 'heart accelerations and variability which is...' I interruped her, 'you can see that her variability is fine. This isnt an NST, you know, i am in labor, it is perfectly normal for her not to show accels.' 'Gee, are you in the business?' she asked. 'No, i just know alot about this stuff', i said. Evidently the nurse had not read my chart either, but i was in no mood to rehash my obstetrical history to every newcomer. In fact i made sure i knew exactly how to read the strip and what to look for, because of the many stories i know now. I even made dh learn how in case of who knows what. My mother was absolutely floored by all of this...

Anyway, mercifully Dr. B. showed up then and okayed my request for intermittent monitoring. it was around 9 am, i was around 3 cm dilated and the contractions were regular enough that it was obvious there was no need for any pitocin. 'You can have any meds, and pain relief you want', he said. Well yeah i would think...so much for wanting a natural birth? This hospital, for all their lip service, is in fact very interventionist.

Dh started complaining that his knee hurt...'it has been bothering me for weeks, i keep forgetting to make an appointment'. I made him leave the room and go down to the 1st floor so he could use his cellphone to make his appointment. 'I cannot believe your husband', said my mother,'you are in labor and he is complaining about his *knee*'. She was really upset about it...i found it most amusing.

One thing i would like to note -- i had been afraid of laboring again, of what my emotions would do. Though Nicolas did not die during labor, labor is still a time of crisis and danger, and there are all the emotions of losing a baby down there under the surface. I was unsure how i would react -- would i panic, freak out, cry, lose it? In fact i did none of those things, and was not tempted to do any of them, i basically just got down to business. C's labor was about C, not about Nicolas. The only thing that bothered me was when we would hear a new baby cry and my mother would brighten up and say, 'Another one!!'. There were 20 babies born that morning so it was happening rather alot. It was my mother's stupid reaction which bothered me more than the cries.

At 10 i was at 5 cm, and around 10:30 i started to vomit and then the contractions became very strong. The vomiting freaked out my mom...'it is normal', i said, 'i always throw up'. In fact now i *was* having continuous monitoring, since i was not moving any more. The nurse went to get some 'birthing ball' thing -- i am sure this helps some people but the idea of sitting on a ball (or whatever you are supposed to do with it) was not at all appealing to me at all. Actually my mother was enjoying chatting with the nurse, all about babies and labors and heavens knows what. It kept them both amused and out of my hair at that point...then what i needed was just dh.

Around 11:30 it was really painful. 'I am tired of this, i want to go home', i said. And then later, 'i want an epidural'. 'You don't want an epidural', said dh, 'remember, it is a good pain, because it results in a baby, just try to relax more' (i had told him this, he was saying what he was supposed to). 'This is *not* a good pain! I want an epidural!' 'Just get the epidural', said my mom (She had been saying that since 9 am). 'just wait until they check you next time', said dh, 'and then if you want, you can get the epidural'. 'Okay' i said.

She came in to check me around 11:45 or so. 'Wow you are at NINE!' she said. *Yes* i felt better instantly. 'Paging Dr. B', she said into the thing, 'Your patient is at nine, you had better RUN'. That made me laugh....i knew Dr. B was at the other end of the hospital, sitting with his dad who was going to have a surgery on his leg later. So then the fun begins...this was like A's birth except even more. Dr. B. came in with some other resident, there were 3 nurses at least. 'She is doing it the old-fashioned way, no meds!' said my nurse, to everyone who would listen. Apparently this was a really unusual event at this hospital, because then all of a sudden there were 6 more nurses who just came in to watch. Then there was the chorus of 'Push Push!' and everybody is all excited...the only scary point was as she was crowning, somehow they were losing the signal totally from the monitor, so Dr. B said 'scalp pin' and they stuck that into her. Oh i hate that, it freaks me out in general. 'What why?' i said to him. 'Nothing's wrong, the other monitor just can't read her heartrate', he said. 'Everything is fine', said my mother (like what she had to say had any value). That was okay but then there were these clicks from that machine, but too far apart to be a healthy heartrate in my book. 'Is that the heartbeat i hear, that is too slow??' 'Push, she's fine, it is not'. I still don't know what those clicks were. But a few more pushes and she was out.

Chloe was born at 12:15 pm. She was 7 lbs 1 oz (little peanut!) and was 19 1/4 inches long. She was pink and screaming and healthy as can be. 'Is she alive? Is she ok? ' i gasped as they plopped her on my chest. She was totally covered in vernix, it was amazing. 'Makes a great moisturizer', said the nurse, 'rub it on your hands'.

Dh refused to cut the cord -- i did not ask why. I would not do it either -- i just don't think it's the mother's job somehow, after all i did everything else...so my mom cut the cord which was kind of funny. Dr. B. gave her the scissors to keep. Then they took C over to weigh and and measure her. They made her footprints...actually after doing her footprints on the paper the nurse did them on dh's arm. Everyone thought that was oh-so-cute except me -- me, it reminded me of a memorial tattoo. But i kept my mouth shut.


Anyway, they delivered the placenta which i got to see -- Dr. B showed us, 'look at this!', it was cool. C latched on to the breast like a champ, though her mouth was small so it was hard to really get her on there correctly. And i learned why they say in the books that labor has four stages, not just three. With A i did not have many afterpains, and with Nicolas i had the epidural so i don't know. With C, man alive it was like being in labor all over again. In fact i nearly threw up again, the contractions were so bad. The nurse said that it gets worse with every baby, that was why. But that 'it is good, it means your uterus is getting back to normal size'. Yeah, it was just great eh...Eventually she offered me a motrin, which i gladly accepted. She said, 'i would have offered you one before, but i thought you were against all medication or something'. In fact i felt kind of stupid for not asking for one, i mean it did not even occur to me...

Well, then dh went to get A, and they moved us to the mother-baby ward. They had to take C for 'some tests' but i was freaking about her being away from me, so i made my mother go with them and stand outside the room watching through the window 'just in case'. Which actually was good for me, it gave me time to have a good cry and kind of compose myself. Poor mom did what i asked, and stood at the window for nearly two hours -- until she was just ready to collapse. Then she gave it up and came to my room, and we chatted a bit, and then i got annoyed and went to get C (by this point they had had her for nearly 3 hours!). I was ready to make a scene to get her back but she was done.

We stayed in the hospital only 1 night. I had a roommate (first time that happened) who had been there for a *week*, she had had an emergency c-section because the baby's heartrate decelled so drastically. He was a cute baby, and his older brother was 18 months old -- just exactly what Nicolas would have been. Only a curtain separates the two beds in these 'semi-private rooms' so we both got earfuls of each other's issues. I know that when i got there, she was feeling bad about her section, that she was a failure or whatever. But during the next day my mom and i had a long discussion/argument/what have you about Nicolas, which i know she heard every word of. And i noticed that when i left she was feeling a lot better about things. I think 'it could be worse' is something people say, but it makes a difference when you really hear what the 'worse' is. So oddly enough it made me feel better that my pain helped hers go away, and i didn't even mind her little boy running around...

Easily the hardest thing, emotionally, of the whole experience was leaving the hospital. I mean, everything was such a contrast to last time, but the leaving the hospital experience was for me the most visceral. They wheeled me out in a wheelchair, holding C (dunno why, but in order for me to leave holding the baby i had to be in a wheelchair, it was against their policy that i should walk. And even though it took them a solid hour to locate a wheelchair -- what is it with these places -- i would not let mom carry her out, obviously.) . It was a *long* way to the door, and *everybody* turned and said 'aaaaw', and there were so many of them. Some lady was on her phone and actually announced into the phone, 'I saw a new mommy and baby leaving the hospital!' I was expecting to feel some level of victory at this moment, that this time i had triumphed and things had turned out right -- i did not have to slink out of the hospital holding a baggy of mementos of my dead baby. But it was the opposite -- all i could think about was how it had been last time, and after...all the faces turning away, and saying stupid things. And of course my mother was next to me, so there was no possibility of tears anyway. So that was tough, i had not expected it.

But of course it is always the things you do not expect which hit you the hardest.

Birth story -- Nicolas

March 23, 2003 -- Background: Dh and i had finished our PhD's and were both in temporary (2-year) postdoctoral positions in Paris. We had moved there in August of 2001 because i had gotten a grant to work with my colleague J. and dh had found a position at the INRIA (the French national lab) where he was working on automatic vehicles (cars that drive themselves). A was 8 when we moved and he had a hard time of it -- new language, new country, new school. He dealt, though -- and by 2003 he was happy there, though still looking forward to moving back to the States. I became pregnant with Nicolas in August of 2002. We were on vacation in the mountains of the Cevennes, in the south of France. So we joked that he was our souvenir of the Cevennes, like that stupid Disney commercial.

My pregnancy with Nicolas was uneventful, like my pregnancy with A had been. We found out his sex at the 20-week ultrasound, around christmas day. I was super-busy and did not spend much time doing baby-prep stuff. I had my MIL bring over piles of baby clothes -- after A & my two nephews we had all the boy clothes we needed. I was flying back to the States in January and February for job interviews, and i actually got several offers. Dh had one also but there was nothing for me there and eventually, in March, we decided to go with my offer in Michigan. That was Wednesday of that week -- dh was away, and so was A. Dh was in the south of france again for a conference -- in the Cevennes, paradoxically. A was at classe de nature in Bretagne. Classe de nature is a sleep-away camp that the school class all attends together, for two weeks. I was 34 weeks pregnant, ready to start my maternity leave. I finally had some time to go shopping for baby stuff, get things ready for the new baby.

March 22nd was a Saturday, i was very busy and Nicolas was moving in the morning. I think now that he died in the afternoon, because i felt an undefinable 'something'. By evening i was still busy, and then had a screaming fight with my mother on the phone, because she thought i was gaining too much pregnancy weight. After this fight i noticed Nicolas did not move around when i lay down to sleep, but i thought maybe he was laying low because of the screaming fight. Such things had happened before...but when i woke up in the morning, he was not moving either and i went in to the hospital to be checked. I took the metro down, and just walked in the door. I did not think anything was really wrong.

Well, there was no heartbeat. The nurse did not find it with the monitor, then she said 'do not worry, it is an old monitor, come over here to the ultrasound machine', but it was not there either. They took their time about it -- first the nurse and then the doctor, so i knew the score and was laying there crying before they actually came out and told me. The doctor said, 'i am sorry to have to tell you this, but we will have to induce you'. I nodded, it seemed a strange thing to say, i mean of course that is what they would have to do, otherwise how would he come out? Then the logistics of the thing -- how to call dh? See, they (he and his friend) were in the mountains and there was no phone there, and the cellphone reception was crap. Eventually i called the friend's wife to get the phone number of the neighbor who had a phone who had to go get dh so i finally got him on the phone. Of course i blurted out, 'the baby's dead', i do wish i had been able to say it a little more gently but there it is.

So, he got on the first train to come back, and they are fast trains but by the time you get there etc. etc. he was going to be at the hospital around 5 pm or so. Which left me around 6 hours to basically stare into space and cry, which is what i did mostly. I asked dh to call the family -- my mother and his, and also J. because i was supposed to be meeting him later and obviously i was not going to do it now. I also asked them not to call me, because i did not want to talk to anyone. I just could *not* deal with them.

Of course, my MIL decided she wanted to talk to me so she called my cellphone. And called, and called and called and called. I would have turned it off, except then dh could not have called either. Eventually i decided to answer it just to shut her up. Trust me, i was polite.

Around 3 pm or so it occurred to me it would be emotionally easier to have a c-section, so i asked for one. They said no. So then i DID call my MIL, to get my BIL's number, so he could call *his* BIL who is an OB, to see if i should have a section or not. I must say that my BIL is a rich guy (plastic surgeon) who is a real asshole alot of the time, but he does have a good heart and i am eternally grateful to him for some small kindnesses he did for me during this time. Of which this was one...so eventually (though rather thirdhand) i got the American medical establishment's opinion, which was that whatever they were going to do to me in france, it was more or less the same as in the states.

So their protocol was as follows -- first they gave me misoprostol (spell?), the abortion pill -- RU486, you know. This was supposed to begin dilation because my cervix was 'closed like a fist'. Then they would induce labor with cytotec applied to the cervix, when the cervix was 2 cm dilated. I was pretty leery about this, having heard of some cytotec horror stories. They all assured me it was fine. 'We will give you the epidural', they said, 'and then we will use the cytotec, 2 pills, it will all be over very soon'.

Well, the dilation with the ru486 was not so fast, i would say. In fact we were there sunday night, all day monday, and finally monday night they checked me and said that they would induce tuesday morning, first thing.

They were kind enough to let dh stay with me, they pulled a bed in for him and everything. And even though it was the 'maternity ward', i heard no babies crying or anything, so there was some luck there. Maybe it *wasn't* the maternity ward, i really do not know. Mostly we spent our time staring at each other in disbelief, crying, watching the war unfold on CNN, and dreading what was to come.

Late monday afternoon i felt some contractions...the first normal thing in this totally abnormal experience. They were exhilarating, somehow...something to latch on to, to hold on to. They were not particularly painful. So i went from wanting a c-section to thinking i should go natural again. My doctor said that it was not worth the pain, that the physical pain on top of the emotional was too much. Okay then, but i wanted to labor a *little* bit. On tuesday morning, first thing (that was around 10:30, this *was* france after all), i had a talk with the midwife about it. She was all for this epidural/two pills cytotec thing, i said i wanted to labor without the epidural first, she said that if she gave me two pills with no meds, the contractions would be so strong and so bad that i would not even be able to hold my body still for the epidural. And *why* would i want to have so much of that cytotec then? So we worked out a truce -- she would break the pills in half, give me a half, then another half if things weren't going fast enough, and proceed that way. And i would ask for the epidural when i felt like it was enough for me.

So we went to the delivery room. It was so unlike Alexander's...it was a real 'delivery room' like you would see in the old tv shows. All hospital white, tile up the walls, lights and equipment everywhere, 'bed' in the middle. There was no window, no natural light. Dh said the whole thing was like the twilight zone, in comparison. I noticed the little place they would put the baby, with heat lamp and little hat to keep him warm and a small diaper -- none of which our baby would need.

So we proceeded as planned. First she gave me an IV. I remember staring at it in such despair, when she did it, since i had not had to have one with A. I still remember that feeling, in my gut. Then she broke my water, and there was very little to be seen. In fact this was the only abnormal thing to note about Nicolas -- there was no amniotic fluid. Fluid levels had been normal at my ultrasound 2 weeks ago, and he was the right size for dates and everything all normal. Then she gave me the first dose, which actually worked pretty well to start contractions in my opinion. On the monitor were the contractions, nice little Gaussians. She left me for awhile, while i walked with my back labor which was not really too bad at all. After a bit of that, she came back and decided it was not going fast enough, it was time for the next dose. After that dose, the nice Gaussians turned very quickly to ugly painful Delta functions. Nasty spikes...anyway a bit of that was enough for me. 'Tell them i want the epidural', i said to dh. But, oh ho ho, it was *lunchtime*, and this is france. The anesthesiologist had gone to lunch!!

'Oh, he will be back soon' they said...but in fact it seemed like a very very long time to me. He finally showed up and threw dh out of the room, for reasons i did not understand. But i was too weak with the awful contractions to do much more about this development than moan my displeasure and vomit. 'Oh that's just the contractions making you vomit', the anesthesiologist cheerfully informed me as he swabbed my back, 'i have not started the medications yet'. No shit, sherlock. That fellow was far too cheerful, actually -- i wonder if anyone had mentioned the dead baby thing to him? Anyway, they let dh back in once it was done and i could not feel the nasty contractions any more. So dh and i settled back into our staring into space routine. Actually i think we had some books that dh had brought from home...but in fact i fell asleep from the epidural. I tried really really hard not to (it not being consistent with my world view to be asleep and in labor at the same time) but i failed...i am not sure if it was real sleep or just some drug-induced trance, but i was helpless against it. I do think though, that those meds had some psychological effect as well, some kind of dulling of the experience.

A few hours later they came in and checked me, told me it was time to push. How i was supposed to push when i could not feel anything below my waist was not really obvious to me. But i tried to follow directions anyway -- i mean, not like i had any choice. What else could i do, get up and go home? The 'pushing' part did not take long but it was awful -- one midwife was down guiding out his head and the other was pressing on my belly to get him out. For a long time afterward i felt very guilty about that -- that i could not push him out all by myself, like i would have (presumably) if he had been alive. Like i shortchanged him, disrespected him somehow. (I did get over that feeling, but it took a subsequent labor) In any case the midwives would tell me when to push, and i would try to with the best of my abilities -- so similar to a live birth but without the excitement and flurry of a whole coterie of people cheering 'Push!!Push!!'.
'Okay it is over you can stop pushing', said the midwife -- meaning that they had got his head out and could do the rest without my help. 'It is not over yet', i said, and indeed i pushed until it *was* over.

Nicolas was born at 3:57 pm that day, which was March 25, 2003. He weighed 5 lbs 4 oz and was 18 1/2 inches long. No screaming, no pink baby, no cutting the cord. Just dh and i clinging to each other crying while the midwives wrapped up the baby to take him away. I had asked them to do that -- take him away and clean him up, and bring him back. I was honestly afraid to see him, afraid of death, afraid of what i might see. But he was perfect in every way, except his color was a little bluish and his lips were very red. There was nothing to be afraid of there. He had curly brown hair and a sweet little chin, and of course he was dead so his mouth would keep popping open as i held him no matter what i did to shut it. He looked very much like A did when he was a newborn. I did not unwrap him, i did not look at his hands or his feet. Dh did not want to hold him at all, and i did not push it.

We spent our time with him (they gave him a little hat after all) and then the midwives took him away. I asked for a lock of his hair, but i forgot to get footprints and handprints. They did not think to do that, and i did not think to ask. We did not take pictures, having decided ahead of time to not do so (out of fear, you know). I do have two polaroids that the midwife took and i am *very* glad to have them, even though they are not really representative of what he looked like. They told me that we could have him back for the night, if we wanted, when we wanted. But we did not take them up on the offer. I wish i had spent more time with him -- but no matter how much, it would not have been enough. Still, i gave him up earlier than i should have, because i was afraid that if held him too long, i would not be able to let him go.

Instead, we went back to the room. We were in the delivery room a *long* time -- after they took Nicolas away, they were supposed to get us back to the hospital room but there was some trouble finding a wheelchair or something. I think we sat there for more than an hour before somebody located something with which they could move me -- they stuck me on this gurney and rolled me out. I remember dh leaving the room after me, and then stopping and just looking at it -- while they pushed me around the corner and i just looked at him look at the room. The depth of the devastation is hard to imagine, if you have not been there. It is not only Nicolas who was 'lost' -- we were all lost.

The next day they let us go, and we did what we had to do -- made funeral arrangements and filed papers, went to get A in Bretagne and told him, family came (and not) for the funeral...but that is all another story really.

Birth story -- A

It occured to me the other day that i had never sat down and wrote out the birth stories of my kids in any kind of detail. So i thought i ought to do that...i guess i will go in order.

November 19, 1992 -- Background: Dh and i were undergraduate physics majors who had been dating for 5 months when i got the two pink lines...by the time November rolled around, though, we were married and living in my mom's house...waiting for the baby to come and for some way to get our own place. The baby (we did not know the sex) was due on November 20th and with the agreement of my teachers i had finished all my classes early and was now sitting at home knitting, or something.

So, even though i was almost 40 weeks i had just gone to the doctor the day before, and they checked my cervix and said -- you're not going anywhere, see you next week. Armed with this information, my mother decided to go shopping in Washington DC to pick up 'a few more baby things'. It is a 4-hour drive to DC but my mother is like me with the shopping, we are crazy shoppers. And at the time, it was well-nigh impossible to get *anything* decent in State College -- honestly i don't even think they had a TJ Maxx yet. So she left early that day, the 19th.

Ahem, so we will not mention what we *did* that morning that started contractions...just skip forward to the loss of the mucus plug at 9 am and subsequent small contractions. Except i did not know that's what they were, since they did not really hurt. More like menstrual cramps than any kind of contraction to speak of, is what i thought. So i sent dh off to class that morning, with instructions to call me after class in case anything happened. I had some nice mint chocolate chip ice cream for breakfast, and then i decided i really really needed to vaccuum the whole house. By the time he called, the contractions were regular (every 5 minutes) but still not really painful -- i called the OB's office and they said to come in to be checked, and bring the bag for the hospital just in case. So dh came home, i left a note for mom, and we went to the office, probably around 11:30.

Dr. T. was on that day and she assured me that i was indeed in labor and was about 3 cm. dialated. The OB's that i went to were a group of five, and Dr. T. was my favorite doctor. She was very knowledgeable and intellgent, and i trusted her. She said we should go to the hospital. 'Do i have to go now, since i am only 3 cm?' i asked. 'You really should, alot can happen quickly', she said. Okay, the Bradley classes told us to put off going to the hospital, but i trusted Dr. T. So i said i would go. She said, 'i am here until 5, then i go to the hospital...i will probably see you, yes i will see you, you will not deliver before then'.

Well then, we went to the hardware store. Okay i know i *said* i was going to the hospital, but the truth was that the towel bar kept falling down and dh needed those special screws to put it back on the drywall. Flange screws? The ones that, when you screw in the screw, the little wings come out behind the drywall -- i don't know what they are called. I needed the towel bar up since i would have to dry the baby's clothes on that bar when i washed one or two things by hand...so you see i could not go to the hospital without first going to the hardware store. We were in the hardware store a LONG time because the line was really long and the contractions actually started to hurt. So when we finally had the desired screws, i was actually ready to go to the hospital.

We got there around 2:00 and got checked in, and they put us in a birthing room. They checked me and i was at 4 cm. The room was nice -- on a high floor so we had a nice view of the 'mountains' (they are large hills) and it was painted a pretty yellow. The day was overcast but the room was cheery. The nurse was pleasant...but oh, the doctor. Old Dr. D. was my *least* favorite doctor of the group. I got the feeling that he did not think 19-year old girls should be pregnant at all, and if they did happen to be pregnant they should be so quietly and shamefully, rather than coming in to the office with lists of questions for the doctor, and telling the doctor how they wanted to avoid episiotomies. It stands to reason that *he* should be the one there when i went into labor, eh?

Anyway, i was really trying for a natural birth, in true Bradley style. I did not let them give me an IV, i did not let them break my water, i did not ask for an epidural. Since it was my first baby, they figured i was in for the duration, and they could just leave us in the birthing room and ignore us for awhile. I vomited at one point from the contractions, all that mint chocolate chip ice cream. It got in my hair....my dh later told me that once around 3:30 the nurse did come in...it happened to be at a point where the pains were all in my back. In the classes they said that if the husband presses against the small of the back, it would relieve the pain -- and it did, but he needed to press *harder*, because it wasn't working all the way. 'Harder', i said,'press harder'. 'I can't press any harder!' he said. 'Then you are a goddamn weakling!' i said. Apparently the nurse took one look and backed out of the room...Dh had called his mother when we got into the birthing room and gave her the number of the room -- big mistake -- because then she was calling every 20 minutes to see if the baby was born yet. I kid you not. Eventually i said, through clenched teeth 'TELL HER NOT TO CALL'. Dh translated this to her as 'it kind of bothers catherine when you call, would you please just wait for us to call you?' This was around 4:20 or so.

Around 4:30 the nurse came in to check me. 'How much were you last time?' she asked 'Four', i said. Boy, those contractions hurt -- i am not going to make this natural thing, i thought -- i am going to need some meds. Her eyes got big 'Four?? You are at NINE...i'll call the doctor!!!' So no meds were even offered to me, because it was too late...So the doctor came, gave me an earful about not letting them break my water, and they asked me to push. It took me a bit to get the hang of the pushing. In fact i think they told me to push before the body was really ready, because at one point suddenly i needed to *push* and i understood how to do it.

I would say that with Alexander, it was the crowning that hurt the most of all. I even said 'wow this hurts', out loud. Which later struck me as a stupid thing to say but oh well...It was just about then that Dr. D figured he would *ask* me if he should give me the episiotomy or not, since i was tearing a little bit. At that point, like i cared? It was actually kind of sadistic of him, 'should i do it or not?' then there is me with the clenched teeth 'Do what you like, you are the doctor, i guess you will cut then, fine *whatever*' That pissed him off, because after the baby was born he told me 'Doctors do not 'CUT''. He probably did not say it right then, because he was afraid i would kick him in the head.

Anyway, he cut and in another push or two, the boy came out, screaming and pink and perfect, and was plopped on my chest. He was born at 5:15 pm, and weighed 7 lbs 10 oz, and was 19.5 inches long. Dh cut the cord, looking rather green-complexioned over the whole thing. We named him Alexander, for no real reason except we like the name. At 5:20 pm the phone rang -- MIL again, she had waited a whole hour after all...

My mother showed up panic-stricken around 7 or so. By that point we were resting (comfortably?) in the hospital room. We stayed two nights and went home. It took me 3 days and several showers to wash the mint chocolate chip ice cream vomit out of my hair...

Lawn care

My MIL is still here for Thanksgiving, but dh took her and C out for the day. I don't know what they are doing -- art museum or flea markets or something. This is nice, it gives me a chance to get some stuff done around the house. I had some chores in the garden and now i have to go clean up the basement (oh yay).

I finally planted those bulbs that i bought from that shady place that sent them late. Sent late, then planted late (that is my fault, they have been sitting here for a month or so). We will see if they come up, i guess it is pretty bad to be planting tulips when there is already snow on the ground. But it is just a dusting, and the ground is not frozen at all -- so maybe i will be okay with that. Plus i had to rake the leaves.

Now i am not usually a lawn-carer, a leaf-raker. My lawn is usually half-weeds and i don't really care because at least the weeds are green. Grass is a weed too, in my book -- and usually the leaves blow away, or rot, or whatever. But i did just put down new grass this fall and then last week i noticed there was a huge pile of leaves in the corner of the fence and the garage and perhaps that was killing the new grassies underneath it. Sure enough it was -- blast, i should have paid more attention. This is in Nicolas' corner too -- i think the wind trapped all those leaves there. So now it is raked but the lawn around his tree, which actually came up reasonably well, is a patchy ugly mess. I knew i was going to have to reseed in the spring but i was hoping it would look reasonable to begin with...i guess NOT. ARGH.

In fact i am rather new to this fancy planned garden/raised-beds/manicured lawn kind of gardening. In Virginia, i would just dig out the grass to make a new flower bed, and just throw some flowers in and mulch it, and most stuff would grow. I never planned anything in advance, and if i didn't like it one year, i would just move it around the next. In Paris, of course, there was no garden -- there were only the windowboxes of death. It is true -- whatever i bought to put in those windowboxes, from whatever source, wherever they were placed (in two different apartments, two different exposures), it would all just die. Even if i did not put it in the window box but kept it separate, it would die. If i did not *know* from years in VA that i could keep plants alive, i would never have bought another plant again. When i came over to Michigan to find a house to rent, in June of 2003, i was gone for a week. When i came back, all the plants from Nicolas' funeral (except his orchid, which i still have, but it's almost dead) were crispy. My dh was very upset that he had let them die, but honestly i was not surprised, since i expected it would happen sooner or later. As much as i love Paris, it had not escaped my notice that everything i ever had from there is dead.

Happy Turkey day...

You Are Pumpkin Pie

Even when people are full - they make room for you. Good or bad, your smell is most likely to arouse a man.

What Part of Thanksgiving Are You?

just a quick post

because i feel bad for not posting more...it has been crazy here. Maybe if i have time later i will write about the day i had...it is the first time i *ever* closed the door to my office, turned off the lights, didn't answer the phone and pretended to my students that i was not there -- just because i had to finish something that i *should* have done last night. Then i finished but i *forgot* i was supposed to pick up A from school early (early dismissal), so i had to go flying out of the office to do that and i locked myself out...good stuff like that ALL day. Tomorrow morning the MIL is coming in for Thanksgiving, and we are going to the parade, and yadda yadda yadda. Tonight i still have to make the house look somewhat clean, oy.

I will be thinking of all of you and hoping you have a gentle Thanksgiving!

gone shopping

Well, okay, this is my third Christmas since Nicolas died, so i guess i have a routine by this point. I hate going to the mall in December so i go before Thanksgiving. And of course i go to the 'good mall' -- the one with all the expensive stores. Which at least eliminates the need to look for too many gifts -- gee i found a sweater my dh would have liked at Saks, but since it cost $600 i left without it...

But there are a few things i do have to get at the good mall. Firstly there is Nicolas' ornament for the tree -- every year i buy him the little Swarovski star ornament that comes out. My dh wanted to get him a star-shaped ornament that first year, and i could NOT find a small star for the life of me and believe me i looked. So i got the swarovski small star and now i get a swarovski star for him every year, since every year they have a different one. (what irritates me, because fundamentally i am cheap, is that the price has really gone UP. The first one cost me $25, which was bad enough, but this year's set me back $37.50. For an itty bitty piece of glass. Of course i will buy them anyway, which is *really* what irritates me most of all)

Then i had some ornaments etc. to pick up for some friends, and some books for A as it is his birthday this weekend. And an xmas gift for my nephews .... i got them a science kit where you grow some aquatic bug-like creatures, eggs are included just add water . Oh my BIL will be just thrilled. (It is payback for the tank with the 'realistic gun sounds' and 'commando action figures' that they got A when he was six, and i was still trying to keep the violent toys out of the house. Heh heh heh what goes around comes around.)

Finally i had my little shopping spree at Baby Gap, buying stuff to give away. Usually i buy several outfits in Nicolas' size to give to charity...today i got 4 shirts and 2 pants, but no jacket which was a bummer. I like to donate a jacket/winter coat too, so maybe i will go shopping again. (but not at the mall) It is wierd to think of him being almost *three*, being so big. I just can't even imagine him so big and so independent. Three is such a fabulous age to be....

And then it is sad too, that i have to do this kind of stuff...and the mall with all the babies in strollers is always tough -- even though i am pushing a stroller too....

cute things they say

My mother send this to me, it came from one of her friends, and i thought it was so funny that i had to share.

As you all know, I have two Grandchildren, Ann Marie (5), and Ezra (2 1/2). Michael (our son-in-law) usually makes them breakfast on weekends so that Susanna can sleep a little longer. Ann Marie came to Susanna's bed and they had the following conversation:

-- Mommy, why do you sleep so much?

--I like to sleep.

-- Is that your best talent?

Good mood this morning

Which is a sufficiently rare thing for me that it must be recorded. I don't know, i am feeling pleased and hopeful. How bizarre....i am sure it will not last. Maybe it has to do with the fact that dh is still jet-lagged so he got up with C and i got to sleep until 7:09. And we did not have our usual getting-out-of-the-house dysfunctional morning fracas for some reason.

Last night i was voluteering at the pg center again. In fact i had a really good time doing this. We did not have any positive pregnancy tests for unplanned pg -- we just gave out maternity wear and baby clothes. There was one negative, which may very well be a positive because HELLO you can not expect to have a correct result 15 days after your LMP. This was a 16 year old girl who seems to be enjoying plenty of unprotected sex with her boyfriend, so i suspect that if we don't see her again this month, we will see her again soon...

What i have found is that it is much easier for me to be 'normal' about these girl's pregnancies than about the pregnancies of people in my age group/social sphere. I am actually pleased and excited for them somehow. One lady came in, 19 years old, 5 months along and expecting twins 'oh twins how exciting!!' That's me -- no stoic disapproval here (which is the other response, probably more usual, and certainly was the response of the other volunteer, who was an older lady who has worked there for some time.) I know why it is my response, too. Because i have been there, and when i was pg with Alexander i got the stoic disapproval on all fronts. And the few times (count them: two) i was actually supported by someone who said something NICE to me, it meant the world. Once was when i was knitting a sweater for him, waiting for my OB appointment, the nurses were so interested in what i was doing and so very complimentary. (13 years ago, knitting was not the fad that it is today, so i guess it was unusual) Another time, i was probably 37 weeks along, nearly ready to pop for sure. Some guy yelled to me across a parking lot, 'when're you due?' and i yelled 'in 3 weeks' or whatever it was, and he yelled 'Awesome! good for you! good luck!'. I will *always* remember that he did that, and it lifted my heart. Being pregnant and young is completely different than when you are in your 30's, obviously established/married/whatever, and everybody feels it necessary to comment on your pg and touch your belly. At least that was my experience.

Another thing is, of course, that they are not fluffy bunny mommies, prattling about how great everything is and all about themselves and their pregnancies. It is a crisis situation, when you are young and unexpectedly pregnant -- it is not a fun ride. So it is alot easier to be supportive, even knowing what i know. It does not bother me that these girls can get pregnant so easily and bring home a healthy baby, even if they do not have a 'good home' to bring them home to -- whereas my son died and had that 'good home'. In fact if you look, the level of loss in this population is quite high, it is just quiet.

The thing i *don't* like about the pg center is that we are supposed to 'counsel' the girls before giving them material aid & what not. Well, this can be a good opportunity to show them that someone does care and can help. And also make sure they are recieving prenatal care/parenting support etc. (I gave out a breastfeeding information packet, yay me!) But it can also be a lecture on abstinence (which is basically what the other volunteer did). Personally, I don't think someone should be compelled to listen to a moralistic lecture just to score some free baby clothes. Give them a pamplet, fine. But aid should be aid, no strings attached. That is *real* aid.

Amaryllis

No pictures yet...well, i could, but who wants to see a picture of a bulb and some dirt?

So, at Target they have Amaryllis kits for $5, which is really a good price. I bought two for myself, and then thought it would be a good choice for teacher gifts. Of course A has 8 teachers -- my dh thought i was insane when he saw me with all those stupid things. Not to mention the cost...but 5 bucks a teacher is pretty cheap of me, actually. Last year it cost more, we did gift cards but also made caramel corn, wrapped up in cute little buckets. Men have no *idea* what the holidays cost, or how much effort actually goes into them. Then the next day i realized that i had to get C's teachers some too. And, hey, they were $5 at Home Depot also! So now i have 12 amaryllis potted up, i am waiting for them to do their thing...

By the way, the white ones from Target are really nice bulbs -- very large and healthy-looking. The red ones are small and kinda moldy. The ones i got from Home Depot are white but a different cultivar. They are smaller than the Target ones also but that might just be the variety. I believe one is too small to bloom though, i am going to save my receipt and go complain when it fails. But you never know, it might surprise me huh?

I was also at the expensive garden center, they had ones i *really* wanted but they were $13 each so FORGET it....i bought a bunch of christmas tree ornaments instead.

random thoughts

Today as i was walking home a car caught my eye -- it was a saab 9-3 SE in white. I love this car in this color, it is sooo pretty -- in fact the only new car we ever bought was *almost* this car. Except at the last minute we found a different one (a Viggen in electric blue, on super-sale since it was last years model) which dh really wanted so we bought that. Lost money on it too, when we had to sell it to move to europe. Anyway, so i always had a soft spot for the white one, and then today i saw one, and enviously watched as the driver parallel parked it beautifully. (a skill i do not possess...) Then as i walked by i caught his eye and i realized he thought that i was checking HIM out, not the car! oooops...how embarassing....

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My mother hates my house, because it is a construction mess and it is in the yucky city and it is *old*. She came from Europe, you know -- eastern europe but still europe. She is not the only person i know from europe who has the attitude that *old* is junky and things should be *new*. I think as americans we tend to romaticize the old more than the europeans do, since we have less old stuff hanging around than they do. The minute my parents could afford it, they built a new house -- modern in style, architect-designed, the works (well, the works in 1980, okay, it ain't the works now) in an outlying, wooded subdivision. Then a few years after we moved into the dream house, i guess the dream broke because my father decided to leave...

In any case, her constant comments about my 'junky' house (i don't really know how to translate her word, that is the closest i have?) didn't really bother me. I know her taste is different. But it was interesting to note what she said herself -- when *her* mother came to visit her in that house, she (my grandmother) complained and complained to no end. We lived in the 'boonies', there was no real town, there was nothing close by, you couldn't walk anywhere, the house was like a BARN...

So maybe we all just become crochety old women in our time -- so i look forward to visiting my daughter and complaining to no end about her house!!!

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I am going to the airport tomorrow -- i am taking my mother there, and bringing my husband back. It has been a long two weeks, i have missed him and i will be most happy to see him back again...

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What is it with the 'and you have TWO kids' thing today? It has been hitting me over the head. I mean, once in awhile is usual, but today -- everywhere i turn somebody says something to me. Maybe it started with my mother yesterday -- 'I feel sorry for you, doing all you do with *two* kids to take care of, but oh i feel even sorrier for Rachelle, she has *four*....' Sigh. Well, actually Rachelle (daughter of a work friend) has 3 and is expecting number four, she is probably about 32 weeks along. You know it could happen to her too, god forbid -- and then we would actually have a reason to feel sorry for her. But i did not say anything at all to my mother, i have learned my lesson well.

So maybe i am super-sensitive because of that comment, but today it was everywhere. Everyone was saying something about me and my TWO kids. Parent-teacher conference. Chit-chat at Kung fu class. My neighbor (who knows about Nicolas, as do A's teachers)...even A, who for some reason was trying to parallel our family with the Simpsons, God knows why. '...only we have 2 kids and they have three -- cut out Lisa...' and then his voice sort of faded out and i glanced at him. Yes indeed, he had forgotten Nicolas for a moment and then remembered that he should be there in Lisa's spot. Sigh. I didn't want to make him feel even more bad though, so i just let that one slide by and worked with the Simpsons -- 'but Marge stays home and i work...'

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I finished painting the balustrade on the back porch, one coat. It needs another but i will not be doing that until spring, i am *done*. Now, inside -- i have been working on the ceilings.

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There is no more hope of anything flowering in the garden, i am afraid. What pretty pictures am i going to put up for you -- we have to wait until spring now!? Okay i will have to picture some other stuff that i do. When i have a chance i make beaded flowers. Here is one i made for a friend, in memory of her baby who also happens to be named Nicholas. It is supposed to be an anemone -- actually Anemone 'Honorine Jobert' which i do have in Nicolas' garden but i just put it in so it did not flower, and generally it looks like nothing at all. But, i have hopes for next year...

Can't complain any more!

I didn't get mail from dh for awhile, but got one today. It turned out that they cancelled the fabulous spa after all and are just being tourists in Kyoto for longer. Well, there, i can't complain any more! Somehow i feel better about it, that they are not going there. I guess that makes me a bad person -- Oh well!

more about the spa

It occurred to me that by ranting about my dh i made him look like a total complete jerk, and perhaps this isn't totally fair and i should give you the whole story. Also since there is some slight chance that he actually reads this thing while he is away, and i am sure that what i wrote earlier in the day will torpedo my chances of recieving a nice present ;)

First of all the spa was not at all his idea. The way the whole thing went was this. He was going to Japan on business and then he was going to stay an extra week as a vacation. He ran this by me and i figured it was fair enough, given what happened over the summer (more on that later). Then his mother decided that she wanted to go to so she was going to show up for that second week. I was really kind of annoyed by this, because i am jealous, because i have never been to japan and i really want to go. Why should my MIL go and i have to sit at home!? But logically i have C, and i am working, so i cannot go. And of course C is better than any trip to anywhere -- Japan will always be there but C will not always be a baby. I know that i will visit there eventually. But i was a little bitter about the whole prospect of staying here by myself with the kids while dh & his mom play tourists. But, my mom was going to come, and though that has its difficulties as detailed in the earlier post, she really IS a huge help with the kids and the housework and overall it is nice to have her here. So i tried to let that whole jealousy thing go. But then it was dh's mother's idea to spend 3 days at this fabulous (and expensive) spa, because she wanted to go there. So that is okay too -- he does deserve a vacation, he does work very very hard -- but i don't want to hear about it. And when things happen here, it comes back.

The second thing was about the summer. I took 3 trips over the summer. The first was to Utah, where i took C, and A went to my dad's for the week. I left for this trip 2 days after we moved into the house. Which means i left with every single box packed, nothing put away at all. The 3rd floor was mostly done when we moved in but not entirely. What still needed to be done -- painting in the hallway, trim, kitchen cabinets (partially), electric, windows, closet shelving, something else, can't remember. I left him in this disaster area and went to a resort (albeit for a conference). Then i got back, i was back for a week (during which time i unpacked as many boxes as i could and tried to prepare a new result to talk about) and then left for france & italy for 2 weeks (with the kids). Yes, for work, but the fact remains that i was in a clean hotel room in Paris while he was crawling in the surpassingly-flithy attic wiring a 3-way switch, or painting the walls, or patching masonary, or putting on the baseboards (when he wasn't at his office working). Then i was back for a week and then i went to visit my mother for 2 weeks. I think this one really pissed him off, and in fact i did not want to go but i had promised for nearly a year so i could not back out. That was a real fiasco of a visit too, let me tell you. Anyway i came back with a whole truck-bed of plants and then started working outside in the backyard on the project which is supposed to be the substance of this blog. So then most of august, september and october i was digging in the backyard. Which is a nice thing to DO on the face of it but somehow ill-timed -- well-timed for my own mental health only, is what i mean. Because there are *so many* things which must be done on that house, that i should be doing to that house, which is my house that i wanted to buy. But they wait since i have to dig in the garden. So one can understand his exasperation.

Okay so now that i have cleared that up, i feel better...

grit teeth, breathe deep

I hope this doesn't hurt anyone because it could cut deep. So be forewarned...

Ok, so yesterday i was doing laundry while my mother talked to me about something she heard on the radio. I am trying to remember the context. Oh, yes, something about abortion (personal story due to Alito supreme court nomination). This woman was saying that her mother was going to have an abortion when she was pg with her, but she had to drive several hours to get to the clinic, and by the time she got there she had changed her mind. She said that she was impressed that her mother was honest enough to tell her this. Then she shared that she had recently had a miscarriage. 'I was tempted to mourn it as the death of a child', said the woman (this is all paraphrased and may be paraphrased wrongly, this is what my mother told me), 'but then i thought, you sow 100 seeds and some of them don't come up and that is natural, so i just thought of it as a seed that did not come up.'

Why the hell is it that THESE are the people they put on the radio? A SEED that didn't come up?! What the fuck is that? Sometimes i hate NPR.

'Yes mom', i say, throwing wet clothes into the dryer,' there is a large range of grief responses with a miscarriage. There certainly are people who mourn a miscarriage as a lost child but i would say it is not that common to do so.'

'But this is the same thing that happened you to, essentially. The fetus died before he was born.'

(breathe deep, explain *AGAIN*)

'No, a stillbirth is NOT the same experience as a miscarriage. A baby that is stillborn is typically a baby that dies AFTER the gestational age of viability...'

And here we descended into a discussion about which week was viability, and then C started to fuss, and thus endeth that discussion.

No, i am not upset with my mother, i am beyond that point and have been for awhile. It is clear that she just doesn't GET it and never will. I am upset with the dumb radio. I am glad that the woman in the story has a construct that enables her to process her experience in the way that works for her. I just don't see why her experience should be foisted upon ME. Sheesh, she was 'tempted' to mourn? Yeah, this grief thing is a big temptation, isn't it? Boy i love it SO much, please give me more. With chocolate sauce on top. (note to universe: this is sarcasm)

And i don't even know if that is really what she said -- maybe it was totally reasonable and it is just my mom who heard this totally BS explanation, and decided that it would help me with my 'problems'. Oh la.

And my husband is now spending his days at a spa on the base of mount Fuji which costs hundreds of dollars which i certainly hope we are not actually paying for. 'You OWE me this trip', he says, 'you went away all summer and left me to take care of this house'. Yeah, and it was on business mostly, and i took the kids with me too, you JERK. And now in order to handle being alone with kids & work & house for 2 weeks, i have to import my mother who feeds me this bullshit. Now THAT pisses me off.

A spa. A fucking SPA. In JAPAN. With massages and traditional baths. I have never in my life been to a fucking spa. Not even a day spa. Not once.

The dead baby, that does not make me bitter. But i gotta tell you, the spa makes me bitter.

big yawn

I am pretty tired...i should go to bed. What i really *should* do is get off my ass and finish cleaning my place so that i am not totally embarassed when my mother shows up tomorrow. But i am too tired, i don't see that happening....

I have been waiting for a week for this stupid flower to open so i can take a picture of it and post it on the blog here but it is still only half-open? I think the plant got tired and decided to not open the flowers all the way any more. I can completely relate...

Dia de los muertos

'Day of the Dead' really sounds like a horror movie to me. Because it IS a horror movie. So let me use the spanish instead, sounds so much better.

Here is a picture of the ofrenda (if i recall rightly that is what they are called) that i set up this year. This is the first year i actually got (read: picked) marigolds...the marigolds are supposed to draw the dead home, because they have such a strong fragrance. They are on the right there. I don't do much in the decorating way, it isn't really a *happy* thing for me, or a celebration the way it is in mexican culture. But i do put out the pictures (there is Nicolas' last ultrasound pic in pride of place in the middle) and a candle, flowers, water, wine, candy. I did not do any bread this year, since i have no bread in the house. Last year i went to mexican village and got a sugar skull and the special bread (pan des muertos), but i did not manage that this year. I usually put up my ofrenda on halloween night, after the trick-or-treat is done, and it stays up through November 2 -- which is All Souls' Day, or Day of the Innocents. Or maybe today is day of the innocents and tomorrow is day of the (rest of the) dead? I am not clear on that. At least it would be neat, if i dropped off the stillbirth baskets on day of the innocents...

Hospital baskets

This morning i dropped off my stillbirth baskets at the hospital. I don't know that they are only for stillbirth -- i just call them that. Here is a picture of one of them.

The whole thing makes me depressed and sad. This is the third time i have brought baskets in and it is the first time i have realized that it is just the act of making the baskets and taking them in that is so sad. The first time was for Nicolas' first b-day, and there was some mess-up with the person who i was supposed to meet. So i left them in some other lady's office, and that other lady was rather odd and rude to me. The next time was probably in April, around Nicolas' 2nd b-day. That time there was also some screwup and i ended up walking back and forth (with a nurse to help out) through L&D, to NICU, and back -- they couldn't find the person to drop them off for. Finally they got her and she was very nice and appreciative. It turned out they used one basket that very day -- there was a baby that had been in the NICU for 8 months and they were taking him off life support that day. So that was very hard to hear. It was such a nice day too -- a beautiful spring day with gorgeous blue skies and warm breezes. The sort of day which mocks your pain. After Nicolas died we had a whole goddamn spring of days like that. April in Paris. Huh.

From talking to the social worker that time, i decided to make 6 baskets every 6 months, which puts us to now. Well, it puts us to September but i am always late with them. Today i was more organized -- i had an appointment with her, and i paged her when i drove up to the hospital. So everything went smoothly, no wandering through the hospital with boxes full of gift baskets. But i was a wreck afterward anyway.

Why is it upsetting? Certainly i would understand being upset if Nicolas had been born at that hospital, but he was born in a hospital in France. C was born in that hospital, and my L&D experience there was a good one. But still it is upsetting to go there and drop off the baskets. Because they get used, and they will always get used. Because we did not get anything like that; and as a result i have no footprints at all, no handprints, and lousy pictures -- only 2 polaroids that the midwifes took, and it took me a good month to find an online support group. Because if my baby had not died, i would not be making gift baskets for grieving parents. Because it puts me right back into that crappy grief morass. BLAH. But if i don't do anything at all i feel bad about that too...