Father's Day 2013

...Where to begin? Today started with some grumpy kids, got better with an ice cream cone and boat ride at the park, and ended in the emergency room (everyone's OK now!).

I got up with the kiddos, and we went out to get McDonald's for Andrew. Oliver woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He was mad about everything! Unfortunately, that mood spilled into what was supposed to be a nice breakfast in bed. We took the kids to Chatfield State Park to play at the reservoir, hoping to improve the day. It was fun, but Oliver was still a Grumpy Gus!

It cost $8 to get in, which would have been worth it if we'd stayed longer. We weren't prepared for the heat and sun. Photos from Chatfield:

After a stop at the grocery store, we went home for lunch and nap time. Oliver was in a much better mood after having some quiet time. We went out to ice cream at Bonnie Brae. Their ice cream is so good! We ate it outside, which completes another item on our summer bucket list.

Oliver wanted "pink ice cream."

We were near Wash Park, so we decided to go play and explore. Oliver saw people on boats and really wanted to ride on one. We decided to go try it out without even thinking about prices. I mean, we've rented paddle boats in Evergreen before, and they are $8. We went up to rent one, only to discover the 4-person paddle boat was $30! We got a two person one for $20, and the kids sat on our laps (which was a better idea anyway).

Oliver had the time of his life! This kid is usually so timid and doesn't much like anything that involves risk. He seriously loved the boat ride, though. We got to see geese, ducks, and herons.

These pictures were taken moments before the incident. I'll tell you what happened in a moment...

So, right after these pictures were taken, Oliver ran off on that path behind us. You can see in the photo how the path winds. It winds right into a parking area on the street. When he first took off, I said, "No, no, no." He kept going, which is so unlike Oliver! I screamed bloody murder, "STOP!" Oliver froze and immediately started to cry (he hates yelling). I'm so glad he listened when I yelled, though.

I was embarrassed for yelling (even though I did the right thing) and distracted by Oliver crying. I didn't even notice when I walked into a tree limb.

It was almost exactly my height. It didn't hit me in the forehead but sliced right into the top of my scalp. It hurt so badly. It wasn't like a throbbing pain from when you run into something. It was a sharp, stinging pain that didn't stop. At first, I tried to hold myself together. The pain kept increasing, and I just crawled into the car and cried. After a minute, I got the courage to touch my head. My fingers were all bloody. Andrew drove a few blocks, but when the pain got worse, he stopped to assess the damage. He just saw a cut and blood and told me I'd need stitches. I started crying all over again! I felt what I thought was blood running down my head, but it was clear liquid. Andrew told me it was probably plasma.

We called his mom, who let us know of an urgent care out by her. I didn't even want to drive two extra miles, so we stopped at an urgent care I know of right by my parents' house. I called my dad. The poor guy, I swear. I tried to stay calm, but I was crying and clearly upset and hurt. I told him I'd be there in five minutes, and he said he would come right away. He's the best dad in the world. (I'm sorry for scaring you, Dad. Happy Father's Day!) My parents were already at the urgent care when we arrived. They grabbed the kids out of the car while I went into the urgent care.

The nurse at the reception took one look at my head and said they couldn't treat it there. She said I had to go to the emergency room. I have a high deductible, and so we'd be responsible for any and all hospital costs. Dang it! It sucks to be hurt and also worrying about whether or not I can afford to go get treated. Andrew told me we'll make it work, and so we went.

The people at Sky Ridge were fantastic. I had a nurse, a physician's assistant, and an MD all check on me. The pain started to finally subside after getting shown into a room. It faded from a sharp, stinging pain to a dull, throbbing pain. The bleeding stopped, too. The physician's assistant asked me if it was OK to numb the area. I was confused why she asked. Is there some reason I shouldn't be numbed? Is there a chance of allergic reaction or something? Nope, she just wanted my permission before giving me an injection. Oh, geez, I hate needles. I mean, I put up with them when I have to, but I hate them. I started to cry all over again! I told her I would rather get treated without getting numbed. She told me they could clean the wound out without numbing, but, if I needed staples, they would revisit the idea of numbing my head.

A nurse washed my head with sanitized water. She had to scrape off some of the scabbing to see how deep parts of the wound were. It started to sting again, but it wasn't as bad as before. A doctor came in and checked me out, followed again by the physician's assistant. She told me the wound was puckered open a bit, but it wasn't deep enough to require stitches or staples. I was so relieved!

...and then I realized I'm probably going to get a $500 bill for nothing! Well, not really. I know I am paying for expert opinions and for taking the time of the emergency room. But, still, I can't help but wish I'd toughed it out. Better safe than sorry, I guess.

So, that's how Andrew spent Father's Day evening, and that's how we ended up at the emergency room. We picked up the kids. My little Ollie Bear ran up to me when I walked into my parents' house and asked, "Mom, do you feel all better?" He's so sweet. My head was feeling so much better--just a slight pressure headache and swelling. We went back to his parents' house, where we're staying for a bit. His mom gave the kids a bath, and I took some ibuprofen and rested a bit. We made a quick dinner (and I helped Oliver make smoothies), and then we put the kids to bed.

What a day! Father's Day didn't go exactly as planned. Next week is Andrew's birthday, and I hope to make it up to him then! Happy Father's Day, Andrew, and thanks for taking care of me at the hospital.

Joanna's Birth Story

Almost all of the pre-labor symptoms I'd had (Braxton-Hicks contractions, pain in my cervix) completely stopped over the weekend. I was still in a lot of pain and had difficulty getting around, but, by Monday, I felt great. My body was less achy, and I was convinced that the upcoming birth was a while off.

Monday night (November 7), the contractions came back. There weren't many--maybe three--all evening, but they were more painful than before. I went to bed early just in case. Throughout the night, I woke up every half hour to two hours. I'd feel a few seconds of pain, and that was it. The baby was moving like crazy, and I had trouble sleeping. Oliver woke up every time I did, so Andrew had a restless night, too.

At 5am on Tuesday (November 8), I stopped trying to go back to sleep. I laid there and wondered if the contractions would lead up to labor. They were pretty painful, but they only lasted a few seconds. When I stood up, they increased in intensity, but not in length. I was experiencing contractions that lasted only about 10 seconds long every 4-5 minutes.

Oliver, Andrew and I all went downstairs at 6am for breakfast. I was confused about whether or not to call the midwife because my contractions were so short. However, they hurt so badly that I couldn't talk through them. I finally called her, and she told me to come in for an exam at 7:30am. My mother-in-law, Colleen, came over to watch Oliver while Andrew and I headed to the hospital. The drive was about thirty minutes. I only had two contractions during the drive. In between contractions, I thought that there was no way I was actually in labor, and I was wasting everyone's time. Their timing had slowed down, and they weren't lasting long. Then, a contraction would hit, and it hurt so much that I knew this was the real thing.

Andrew dropped me off at the ER entrance and left to find parking. As soon as I stepped out of the car, the contractions started to come much more frequently. By the time I was brought to my room, I started to have them about two minutes apart. My midwife looked at my face and said, "That is a woman in labor." She hooked me up to a monitor, and I learned my contractions were actually lasting a full minute each. I only felt about 10-15 seconds of them, though. Last week, I'd been dilated 3cm. At the hospital, I was dilated 5cm. I was admitted.

Because of everything that needed to be taken care of first, I didn't get my epidural until 9:30am. The last half hour of that was pretty excruciating. Getting the epidural wasn't painful, but getting the IV in my arm was awful. It was the worst part of labor, and I cried like a baby after the nurse dug into a vein for the third time and missed. Once the epidural kicked in, the pain stopped completely. I couldn't fall asleep, but I was able to relax and visit with my parents and my husband. My midwife checked me, and I'd dilated to 7cm. She predicted the baby would arrive by lunch time.

Lunch time came and went. I stayed dilated at 7cm for a couple of hours, but the most discouraging thing was that the baby wasn't dropping. She was at a -5 when she needed to be at a +2 to push. This is what happened at Oliver's delivery. My midwife started to talk about Pitocin. I wanted to yell, "No!" because Pitocin was the worst thing ever, and it didn't succeed in pushing Oliver down. Nothing did, until my doctor had let me try to push him down myself. I told my midwife that, and she responded kind of snippy. She said, "If you need Pitocin, then you need Pitocin." She said she'd be back in a little while to check me again to see if the baby would drop.

After my midwife left, I started to secretly push down (just a little) at the peak of some contractions. I couldn't feel the contractions, but I could see them on the monitor. When my midwife checked me next, she was thrilled at my progress--our baby dropped to -1! There was no more talk of Pitocin. As she felt my dilation, my water broke. I gently pushed down through a few more contractions.

At some point (I can't remember when because the day went by in a blur!), I needed to be given medicine for my low blood pressure. I'd been at increased risk of high blood pressure during delivery because of my increased HCG levels early in the pregnancy. That was not an issue! My blood pressure dropped low, and our baby's heart rate dropped in response. I was put on oxygen and given some sort of blood thickener (I believe).

Around 3pm, I could really feel the pain of the contractions through the epidural. I couldn't talk through them, and I felt like I needed relief. The anesthesiologist's nurse gave me a boost of medication. It took the pain away, and that was what I wanted. However, it also made me feel drowsy and nauseated. It numbed me a little too much, and I couldn't feel any pressure at all. That's when my midwife came back. She checked me and announced I was ready to push! She and a nurse quickly got things ready. I told them I'd need their help telling me when to push because I was completely numb. Right when the told me to, I needed to vomit. Andrew had to help me throw up in a vomit bag three times. Once I was done throwing up, the nurses told me to push. I pushed, and I could feel our baby's head. They told me when to push the second time, too. Then, they told me I just needed one more good push and to do it when I was ready. On that third push at 3:30pm, Joanna Elizabeth was born.

Jo was put on my chest immediately. I broke down in tears. Both times I've experienced childbirth, I've worried I wouldn't feel bonded to my baby immediately. Thankfully, that isn't a problem I've ever experienced. I felt a flood of emotion, but it was mostly love. She was beautiful. Somehow, she had dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, and even a cleft chin.

Andrew snapped this photo within minutes of delivery:

Five minutes or so passed, and my midwife asked Andrew to cut the cord. He did, and cut it cleanly with one slice (as he'd done after Oliver's birth). I held her and nursed her for her first hour of life. After that, Andrew got to hold her, and she was finally measured and weighed. Baby Jo weighed in at 7 pounds, 11 ounces and measured 20 inches.

It took longer for me to deliver the placenta. It didn't detach by itself, and my midwife had to manually remove it. I wonder if the reason it didn't detach was related to the bleeding I'd experienced earlier in the pregnancy. Perhaps not. As my midwife worked to dislodge the placenta, I was quite grateful I was still numb from the previous boost of medication from the anesthesiologist's nurse. If I hadn't been, I think that would have been the worst part of the entire labor and delivery. She quickly stitched up a "superficial tear" that I assume only required one stitch. I was quite pleased that I wouldn't have to deal with another 4th degree tear!

My legs regained feeling fairly quickly. After an hour, I was able to get up, walk, and use the washroom (albeit slowly and with help from the nurse). Shortly after that, we received our first visitors.

Here is our first family shot, which captures the first time Oliver met his baby sister:

Oliver was very cuddly and didn't want to leave my side. I got to hold both of my babies. Amazing.

Grandpa Larry got to hold his first granddaughter, Joanna:

Grandma Judy also got to hold Jo, the grand baby named after her mother:

And here is Grandma Colleen holding Jo, who she believes is the most beautiful baby to enter the world since Oliver:

We transitioned to our room in Maternity. I was pleasantly surprised they had a room for us! Apparently, there were so many births between Monday and Tuesday that they'd run out of rooms. Many people had to stay in their labor rooms.

This photo of Jo was taken about 6 hours after birth. She still hadn't been cleaned from delivery. In fact, she didn't get cleaned until nearly 1:00am--that's how busy the hospital was!

We didn't even get to try sleeping until the wee hours of the morning. Even then, nurses went in and out, dropped things, bumped into our beds, and just generally woke us up all night. Jo, on the other hand, slept soundly through it all. I had to wake her to nurse, and, even then, she was too tired to try latching on a couple of times. We managed to survive the first night, and, in the morning, we were rewarded with a visit from Oliver! Once again, he was thrilled to see us and his sister.

Joanna, Day 2, finally cleaned up:

Mother & Daughter:

Father & Son:

Oliver even taught Grandpa Larry how to play Angry Birds:

Teeth for Real This Time?

Oliver hasn't been sleeping well since Friday night. I thought it was from the vaccinations he'd received on Thursday. He slept very well Thursday night but was cranky throughout the day on Friday and cried throughout that night. Saturday night was the same, only he was screaming as well. At 11pm on Saturday, we took Oliver to the ER. To be honest, I was a little reluctant to go at first. What would I say? He didn't have a fever or anything. Still, Oliver is not usually a screamer, and I felt something was wrong.

The pediatrician at the hospital was so nice. I liked her a lot. She checked Oliver everywhere and examined every finger and toe. She was slightly concerned about his skin. She said she's reluctant to diagnose it as eczema yet but that we should keep an eye on it. Ollie's pediatrician had also questioned me on any family history of eczema (Grandma Jo had a mild case, and my sister, Julie, had a mild case). It makes me worry, but it also makes me feel good that neither of them diagnosed him with it. The pediatrician at the hospital said the rash on his body was not hives nor eczema, and it went away shortly after. I think it was from stress because that's what my skin does when I get stressed, too. In the end, she deemed Oliver a healthy baby but told me to come back if he developed a fever or any other new symptoms.

Neither of the pediatricians felt teeth in Oliver, but yesterday (Wednesday), there was a drastic change in his gums. His tooth buds are raised more, and I can see a line in each bud that looks like the top of a tooth. Also, looking at the gums straight on, I can see the outline of teeth (where you and I have our tooth roots). I think the teeth have been coming up slowly throughout the week and bothering him, but that's just speculation.

Today, Oliver woke up at 5:30am crying. He was exhausted and kept rubbing his eyes, but he wouldn't go back to sleep. He spent the morning crabby and tired, but he wouldn't go to sleep. Finally, at 7:30am, we gave him some infant Tylenol (don't worry; it's not the recalled lot), and he's been sleeping ever since.

I hope it's teeth because, if it's not, there's definitely something bothering him. If he doesn't have teeth by Monday and is still crabby, I'm going to call his pediatrician and have her check him out again.

The Longest Days

I've spent the last few days at the animal hospital again. Sunday, I came home to a dog whimpering. She couldn't lay down or go down the stairs. I couldn't take her into the vet since it was the weekend, but I also knew I couldn't wait until the next day to take her in. So we went to the animal hospital.

It took a while for them to see us. There were a few major cases, including one zealous puppy who swallowed a stick his owner threw for him and got it stuck in his throat (we found out later he was going to be just fine, although he'd need a lot of pain medication!). When it was Bailey's turn, I told the vet about the arthritis in her paws and the history of mammory tumors. She played with Bailey's joints and her neck and back. None bothered Bailey, but when the vet touched her stomach, she freaked out. They had to muzzle her! It looked like the cancer was back.

They doped up Bailey with pain meds and gave me some to take home until she could see the oncologist today (Tuesday). I had to beg and plead with a man at work to cover my shift so I could get in for the appointment, and my mom was able to take half of a day off of work to go with me.

After hours of testing and waiting for results, we heard some semi-good news. Yes, her tumors were back, and yes, they were causing her pain, but they hadn't metastisized and could be removed with surgery. All her other organs were in excellent condition and she's in otherwise great health, leading them to determine that surgery was a really good option for her.

So Bailey goes back to the hospital first thing tomorrow. They're going to remove all her lower breast tissue and do a lumpectomy for the two smaller lumps up higher. It's going to be a pretty major surgery, and she's going to have a long recovery, but they think she will completely recover from this.

I feel so much better than I did yesterday and Sunday night. I'm scared for tomorrow, but I feel so grateful that the rest of her body is healthy and that I have the rest of the week off to care for her (what an amazing coincidence! Sometimes, those things just work out). So much to be grateful for! Happy thanksgiving!

The Art of Taking Bailey's Temperature

In the wee hours of the morning, Andrew and I grabbed Bailey, her leash, and headed to the pet hospital.

She started acting a bit off earlier this week, though it took me a while to really notice a pattern. My parents watched Bailey for the weekend, and my mom told me that Bailey woke her up around midnight Monday morning to go pee.

On Tuesday, I picked her up and brought her home. Around midnight, she started crying, but I was so tired, I fell right back asleep. At two, I woke up again and noticed her cries sounded desperate. I told her, "OK," and I got up and went to the bathroom to find my pants and shoes. She jumped out of bed and was ready to rock. Evidently, I took too long, because she squatted and peed as I was putting on my shoes. I felt so, so bad for her and didn't say anything to her because I knew it wasn't her fault. I took her out anyway, and she peed again for a long, long time.

Again, I didn't think too much of it. I chalked that one up to being my fault because I didn't wake up when she cried to me at midnight. Still, I felt some worry. She's never, ever had an accident in the house since she was house broken as a puppy.

I monitored her closely Wednesday and Thursday, and I took her out every few hours. She did just fine and made it through those nights. On Friday (yesterday), I took her out at noon and then went to work. Andrew came home at 4:45pm and found a little pee puddle by the door. He took her out right away and she peed again.

I didn't get home from work until 11pm. After I got in, Andrew told me about her accident. I knew something, something had to be wrong. But it was late on a Friday night, and my vet wouldn't be open until Monday. I wondered, "Is it OK to wait until Monday?" Then I thought of Homie, and I thought about how his symptoms hadn't been that severe, and how he died suddenly, anyway.

So I called my vet's number, knowing that, after hours, it connects to the pet hospital. I explained to the tech her pee problems, and I asked if I needed to worry about bladder infection or kidney infection or what. She said it could be something minor, it could be an infection, or it could be old age (simply that Bailey can't hold it any more). She told me I could certainly bring Bailey in; it was up to me if I wanted to wait until Monday.

I woke Andrew up, and we took her to the pet hospital at County Line & Holly. They were so sweet to her. At some point, the vet tech took Bailey to the back to "take her temperature." I could hear the bells of her collar jingling as she led her away down the hall. That's when Andrew leaned over and said, "You know how they take her temperature, right?"

I laughed a bit at the expense of Bailey, thinking of my little Sweety prancing down the hallway completely unaware of what awaited her... the anal thermometer. Poor girl.

The vet came in and talked to us. I asked a million questions. Essentially, he thought the most likely cause of Bailey's problem was a urinary tract infection (I guess they're common in older females). He said it's less likely to be something like a kidney infection because she'd be in a lot of pain, especially when she peed (which she wasn't). He said he also didn't think it was diabetes because I would have noticed a drastic increase in her drinking (which I hadn't), and he said she would have been peeing a lot more in quantity, not just frequency.

I swallowed my fear and asked him if it could be her cancer (Bailey has breast cancer). He told me that cancer can present itself in basically any way it wants to, so it could be, but it's not as likely. He told me that if everything else is excluded, only then would we worry about that, and then we would do ultrasounds and scans and such to see her organs.

He tried to do a somethingcentesis... a procedure where he'd stick a needle in her bladder and extract some urine to test. But Bailey's bladder was empty, and he couldn't. He recommended that we put her on antibiotics to see if it helps. If it doesn't or she gets worse, I should bring her to my vet on Monday for more testing and comprehensive blood work. If it does solve the problem, we can chalk it up to an infection and call it good.

I feel better knowing that the most likely problems are the ones with the lower health risk. She can fight off a urinary infection, if that's the problem, and she's on antibiotics before it is a big problem. The next most likely problem is her old age. If that's it, hell, we can buy doggy diapers for night time and when we're going to be out of the house for more than 4 hours.

I'm relieved to know it's not likely something life threatening. I'll tell you what, though; it sure made me very appreciative to wake up and find my little furry bundle snuggled up between Andrew and me this morning. I sure love that girl.

Do any of you feel like your dog/cat/pet is a part of your family? I'm sorry for everyone who's had to lose their buddy. It's not easy watching someone you're supposed to take care of get sick, is it?

(Attached are two photos: one of Homer chilling on the deck with us a week or two before he died unexpectedly, and one of Bailey on Easter nibbling on her Easter egg).