Chapter 2-A History of My LD

I labeled Chapter One, grateful.  It was placed as chapter one instead of two because in the big scheme of things, on a scale of 1-10, grateful is a 9 and ticked off is the leftover 1.  I've waited a full two weeks before I posted the ticked off Chapter 2 portion.  First, allow me to explain the difference between ticked off and mad.  Both carry the same general level of annoyance, but ticked off is a en emotional crazy level down from mad wherein you just fantasize about ways to ruin said annoyances (and or person who annoyed you) life.  It takes a lot of time and effort, and eventually you have to blog about it, take a cleansing breath, and let it go, or it can consume your life. 

It's sort of like my relationship with the old people next door. As you know, I don't like old people.  I don't like them not because I am an ageist (maybe I am), I don't like them because they are retired, and they now have nothing to do (along with their fellow retirees) but bitch.  This bitching leads them to actions such as installing giant pieces of hand cut plexi glass in front of their rose bush that is in the same corner of the yard as my back yard ... because God forbid my sprinkler drop a sprinkle of water on the rose bush.  Roses love water, according to my green thumb mom, so it's no wonder my rose bush's planted years after his "prize" are thriving and his is still a squatty hot mess.  They also had a "pergola" installed 2 summer's ago.  The whole mess took the poor contractors almost 3 months to complete ... then the old fool proceeded to take it down, piece by piece, restaining each board, resanding, and reinstalling.  See what I mean?  Too much time on their hands.  I'm not angry with them, no longer ticked off, and now mildly entertained.  I digress.

So I sit struggling with two heavy emotions ... gratitude and ticked off.  I've written about gratitude, so gather your strength, cleansing breaths, and maybe a sense of humor (it's really unbelievable) before you read on:
Delivery of Bennet Jon Eldridge, February 4, 2011.
Bennett is my 4th child.  My 4th son.  I am not a rookie by any means when it comes to the whole, "birthin' of the babies".  My first baby was later term (thank you idiot USAF doctor for my 43 week pregnancy), and my baby had meconium aspiration syndrome.  Hence, my other 2 babies were induced to prevent another MAS situation.  I was 24 when I delivered #1, and I'm now 37 (ugh) to deliver #4.  #2 child was delivered in Utah ... but I lived in the Azore Islands.  When he was 2 weeks old I returned to the Azore Islands and some wierd bump showed up on my leg.  It was apparently a blood clot, which I assumed happened from a long plane flight transatlantic, shoved like a sardine into a way to small seat.  The quality USAF healthcare combined with Island wisdom suggested we just "watch it and see". If they put me on blood thinners, I would have to medivac to Germany, and that was a pain in the butt for everyone.  We watched (I knew nothing about DVT's, the fact it could kill me, etc.) and it resolved.  Thank the Maker.

#3 child (Caden) proved exciting with a stroke at 4 months, gestational diabetes at 5 months, insulin shots accompanying (of course), a gall bladder attack (ugh), etc. etc.  But at the end of the day, all was well. 
This pregnancy was the first wherein the doctors put 1+1+1 togehter and got 3.  Duh.  Blood clot #2 baby, stroke #3 baby (stroke one year after #3 baby making 2 strokes).  I had already been voted off the proverbial "normal obgyn island" to see a specialist given this pregnancy history.  I sat in the perinatiologist's office and she said amongst other scary as hell things, "you have a clotting disorder, why the hell didn't someone run a blood panel years ago on you?" 

She was mortified, half laughing at the idiocy of my former healthcare (babies delivered in Japan, Utah, and New Hampshire).  She immediately started me on 2/day blood thinner injections, THEN ran the panel, THEN called me a week later to tell me, "I told you so, I KNEW I was right.  Keep on the blood thinners."  Awesome.  Protein S deficiency.  Who's even heard of that?  It's genetic, inherited, and who knows what line it came down.  Blood thinners keep me from stroking out again, and/or the babies placenta from throwing a clot and ... do the math.

The blood thinners injections were mildly painful (okay, they hurt alot), the 35 lb weight loss trimester one from puking, not awesome, the weekly trips to Denver (45 minutes away) with Caden in tow, pain in the butt.  Weekly perinatologist check in's, ultrasounds, nurse practioners, giving enough blood to satisfy a cavern of vampires, machines, tests, MRI's, a micro stroke, neurologists, restless leg syndrome, no sleep, Jon left the bed for the couch, the kids wanted to pack up and just leave, etc. etc.  The bottom line was when delivery day came around, I was exhausted and I felt as if the whole pregnancy had been on everyone else's terms EXCEPT mine.  I have control issues, but I followed my doctors. Every medication, every appointment, every test, I followed like a dutiful stepford wife. 

My one request ... "I know this delivery has the potential to be dangerous, and it will probably have a big medical feel (lots of doctors, nurses, tubes, wires, etc), but when it's time to "push" can I have a silent delivery?"  A silent delivery is what I had with Caden.  It was a midwife ... and a few other med students, nursing students, etc. who had never seen a delivery and it was my 3rd baby, so who really cared at that point how many people were there?  Despite the audience (jon suggested bleachers be set up in the room, not kidding), the midwife sat on the end of my bed and said, "Cortney, you know what to do, listen to your body."  That was it. 

There was no screaming about counting to ten, dropping my chin, curling my back, pushing harder, or pushing longer.  It was silent.  After a third pregnancy that was also on everyone elses' terms, it was a culmination of a time in my life that I needed for some semblance of closure that I had control.  I talked to Caden, I told him we had to do this together, I pushed when I wanted, I took a breath when I wanted.  It was only a few minutes (my sisters and I are freakishly good pushers) until she said really calmly, "okay, stop pushing."  Baby was delivered., crying ensued, and all was well.  Most importantly, I felt in control, I felt calm, and I felt like I had one moment of control over the greatest part of the pregnancy ... welcoming my little son into the world on my terms, with my strength, and silence ... blessed silence.

The reality of my deliveries is that my babies have to be "bombed" out.  This is important to the details of this recent delivery.  Bombed out means pretty long inductions, pitocin, and great epidurals.  I've delivered in Japan (with a doctor that resembled a MASH character complete with Hawaiian shirt and denim shorts) with a crisis delivery, I've delivered in Utah in a new hospital with donors that apparently had money to burn ... who has a hospital with a full time pianist and waterfalls in the entry?  Beautiful hospital, a doctor and med student who stood at my neither regions as I "pushed" rather uninvolved in the delivery, but rather talking about salmon/halibut fishing in Alaska with my husband.  About push three I let them all know I was having a baby and perhaps they needed to pay attention.  (Okay, not so nice terms, but they got it)  I've had baby in New Hampshire with a trex wearing, unibrow complete, granola munchin nurse from hell who thought breathing through the pain was better than an epidural.  I crossed my legs until she got off shift.

All my babies share one thing in common.  They don't like labor.  Half way through I am put on oxygen when their heart rates dip with each contraction.  Apparently they don't like having their head squeezing through the birth canal anymore than I like the head in my birth canal pressure.  My first labor was at least 30+ hours ... but I was also tromping around Tokyo for most of that showing my parents (who had jsut arrived in Japan) the sites.  It was an every few minutes grab anything available, writhe in pain, then move on sort of day.  So that labor doesn't really count.  Second labor, induction, about 14 hours.  Third labor, induction, about 11 hours.  Getting shorter.  Another thing in common with my kids, at the risk of TMI, I don't "progress".  I get to about a 3-4 about 5 hours in, then just stop progressing.  At about hour 10 the doctors start threatening cesarean, and magically my uterus/cervix dutifully dialate, quickly, and I go from the useless 3-4 to a 10 rather quickly.  I think my body has a psychological reaction causing a physical response to NOT wanting to face a scalpel.  That's my thoughts.

This delivery ...