Medela Symphony - Accept No Substitutes

Dear Medela Symphony 02 Breastpump,

You just left yesterday and I feel like I didn't get enough time to say goodbye. Sure, we had some differences. Like night after night where you made me get up every two hours at 20 minutes a shot. The prune fingers from the constant cleaning and washing of the pump pieces. The fact that my insurance would only cover you for one month.

But honestly, I couldn't have done it without you. With my premature son in the NICU, you gave me some control in an out of control situation. At one point the nurses even told me that there was no more room in the NICU fridge and I would need to freeze the surplus of milk. They would ask, "what pump are you using?" And when I said you, they would all nod like it made perfect sense.

So thank you. Thank you not only for giving me a feeling of purpose during those long NICU weeks. But also on behalf of my 3 month old son who is thriving - see chubby photo.

I really couldn't have done it without you.

~Q's Mama

Smile if You're Worried - Update

HE SMILED!!!!

And he keeps smiling. I finally feel like I can breathe a sigh of relief. One milestone down - a million more to go.

Now I just need him to start sleeping through the night.

For those of you who have no clue what I am talking about:
http://thebestfriendsguideto.blogspot.com/2010/05/smile-if-youre-worried.html

Seems like what they say is true. Preemies seem to work on their corrected age and not their birth age. Who knew?

~Davina

A Preemie Story - Part 4: Back Where it All Began

(Continued from: A Preemie Story - Part 3)

The strangest thing about being back at the hospital was having to repeat all the steps as if I had not just been there a day and a half earlier.

Step 1: register with OB check-in
Step 2: head to triage
Step 3: wait and wait some more
Step 4: answer all the doctor's questions as if I had not just answered the same questions 48 hours earlier

I was contracting-- of that I was sure, but for some reason the monitor could not pick it up. Each time I would feel my abdomen contract I watched the numbers on the monitor barely move.

"I know you can't tell but I swear this hurts a lot!" I told the nurse. She nodded sympathetically and adjusted the belly band. Still nothing.

The doctor came to see me and decided that it was time for an internal exam. Everyone else had stayed away from this option as they did not want to make an irritated cervix even more so. For whatever reason, my husband and I found this amusing.

"Irritated cervix," I chuckled. "Why is my cervix so sensitive? Did someone say something to make it mad?"

The mood in the triage room was light and calm as we bantered a bit with the night shift. The doctor prepared for the internal and said he was going to perform a fetal fibronectin test to determine if I was in labor. Turns out, we didn't need to know. After completing the internal there was blood - a large amount of blood - and the mood turned serious.

For a brief second the doctor and the nurse glanced at each other. It was in that glance I had everything I needed to know about the severity of the situation. Without a warning the doctor threw a sheet over my waist and the nurse pushed the side rails of the bed up and started rolling me down the hall.

"I can walk," I said.
"No. We want you as stationary as possible."

My husband followed the medical parade with my pocketbook in hand looking dazed. I watched the blood stain on the sheet covering me get bigger.  I instinctively put my hands on my belly and willed the baby to kick so I would know he was ok. He remained quiet.

Back to the labor and delivery room they carefully slid me over to a hospital bed where we, for the final time, tried not to have a baby.

...to be continued

~Davina

A Preemie Story - Part 3: The Shortest Longest Bedrest

(Continued from A Preemie Story - Part 2) 

I arrived home from the hospital on a Friday. My orders were to do nothing. Do not move. Do not climb stairs. Do not pass go. I walked in the door, up two flights of stairs (already breaking rules) to my bed and tried to remain still.

Bed rest sounds like a treat (who wouldn't want to be told you had to remain in bed?) but it's actually a nightmare. My mother made me tea and sat at the end of the bed trying not to look worried. My husband bought a Play Station 3 (I believe this is the guy version of retail therapy) and moved a mini fridge into our bedroom. He could not stop moving while I sat as still as stone. The anxiety in the house was so palpable and my stress from my stay in the hospital so clear, my two year old son took one look at me and started crying "NOOOOOOOOOOO. No Mama. No Mama".

I wanted to jump up out of bed, hug him, and tell him everything was going to be fine. But I really didn't know if that was the case. I made his squirmy body snuggle with me all the while trying to keep my belly out of harms way. I tickled him and he finally laughed. To him I had snuck out of the house 4 days earlier in the middle of the night. I didn't blame him for holding a grudge.

The day came to a close and my husband and I sat close together on the bed.

"How are we going to do this for 8 weeks?" I asked.
"We will manage," he replied.

One half day of bed rest had past.

The next day, Saturday, was much of the same. We had to all get used to the new world order where I did not do anything but everyone had to do everything for me. The minutes and hours ticked by painfully. Even my mother couldn't help but state the obvious as she made yet another cup of tea.

"How are you going to do this for 8 more weeks?"
"I don't know," I sighed.

My mother left our house around 5PM. My husband headed downstairs to give our son Grayson his dinner. Sitting alone for the first time in days, I took stock of how I felt. I did not miss the hospital but there was a part of me that took comfort hearing the baby's heartbeat and knowing he was ok. The magnesium had all but worked it's way out of my system and the sluggish feeling that followed me around had faded.

The entire day was such a whirlwind of adjusting to the new routine, I barely had time to register that I felt cramps. Now that I sat quiet and alone I felt a slight tightening in my abdomen.

At 7:30 my husband came upstairs after putting Grayson to bed. I told him about the tightening. I didn't yet want to commit to calling it "contractions" or "cramps". I just felt "off". I put a pillow between my knees and rolled to my side. The tightening lessened. A few minutes later it started again.

It was becoming clear that it was time to call the doctor again.  What started as an 8 week bed rest was about to turn into only a day and a half.

Next up: A Preemie Story - Part 4: Back Where it all Began

~Davina

A Preemie Story - Part 2: "Try Not to Have the Baby"

(Continued from A Preemie Story - Part 1) 

How do you stop a run-away train? Well, the truth is, you can't. Once the chain of events are set into motion, the best case scenario is to delay the inevitable crash.

So that's what we did, we delayed the birth of my son. At 31 weeks he was in the danger zone for a host of problems. None of which were a guarantee, but all of which were a concern. Breathing issues, low birth weight, organ failure. His body needed time to develop and time was the one thing on short supply.

And so began the drugs. An IV drip for magnesium sulfate to slow down the labor and boost his brain development. A round of steroid injections to improve his lungs. An antibiotic drip for group B strep. The machine supplying the drugs became a companion, my hope, my baby's protector (yes this is an actual photo of my IV drip).

One after another I heard babies being born down the hall let out their first cry. "Am I the only one on this floor trying to NOT have a baby?" I asked the doctor. "No," he responded, "There are more like you".

As Wednesday and Thursday passed the mood in my room became a bit more optimistic. The drugs were having some impact and my body began to slow down the labor progression. The question was, when they stopped the magnesium drip, would nature take over again? Somewhere in my heart I knew the answer was yes, but the doctors felt they had a handle on the situation so I tried to be positive along with them.

On Friday-- three days after being admitted to the hospital-- a doctor came into my room.

"So, how are we today?"
"Well, no bleeding," I responded.
"Cramping?"
"Some, but mild," I answered.

The doctor looked disappointed but informed me that they were thinking of sending me home. Having done as much as they could, it made more sense for me to be at home with my family. I could see the logic, but the nagging thought that this ride was not over would not leave me. I thought of the night it all began. The relief I felt getting to the hospital and having medical professionals watch over me. At home was different. I would be on strict bed rest. For 8 weeks. With a two year old. That's like trying to run a marathon without sneakers-- it probably could be done, but far from ideal.

Friday afternoon I was discharged. The doctor came in and read us the rules of strict bed rest:

1. No stairs (I live in a three story house)
2. A shower is fine but be quick about it
3. No picking up laundry, your son, or anything heavier than a feather
4. Nothing in your vagina

My husband and I giggled at the last one. Sex was the last thing on our minds and of course I would never think to use a tampon.

"Damn," I said to my husband. "Where are we going to store that coin collection?"
"We'll just have to find a new place to keep all those old books," he responded with a smile. 

And off we went. The nurses all waved goodbye. One even gave me her phone number if I needed anything. "Hope not to see you soon," they said. I smiled and thanked them all for taking such good care of me. At that moment, I loved each and every one of them.

I left the labor and delivery ward as pregnant as when I arrived.

Next Up: A Preemie Story - Part 3: The Longest Shortest Bed Rest
~Davina

A Preemie Story - Part I: Ready or Not...

Part 1: Ready or Not...

On March 7, 2010 my son Quentin was born 8 weeks early. The experience was sudden, unexpected, terrifying, surreal, and confusing.

A week before he was born, my husband and I watched television and went to bed per our normal routine. That night I tossed and turned. Back and forth, up and down to the bathroom. I had to pee, but nothing was really coming out. I felt nauseous.

Around 2:30 AM I made one final trip to the bathroom. I looked down and there, as gross as it sounds, was blood and a lot of it. I had been bleeding the whole pregnancy. The doctors really didn't think much of it (bleeding can happen for no real reason) but had one eye on me for good measure. I had seen blood before in the middle of the night, but this was different. I felt different. I remember feeling dread-- I knew this was not good but I was not scared, yet.

I shook my husband awake.

"We have a problem."

He was groggy at first and just to show him I wasn't being an alarmist, I made him look into the toilet bowl. The sight of so much blood snapped him out of the haze.

"We are calling the doctor, right now." he informed me.

Because all emergencies happen in the middle of the night (of course this would not happen at noon on a Tuesday) we were put through to Brigham and Women's hospital. Still somewhat calm, I told the attending my issues. This was not my first time calling after hours, but this was the first time I knew I needed to be seen. The pit of dread started spreading from my belly out to my fingers and toes. I began to feel anxious.

We called my mom. With as much calm as I could muster, I explained the situation and she scrambled out the door to watch our two year old son.


What to Expect When You're Expecting does not cover middle of the night hospital runs when your two year old is sleeping and you are only 31 weeks. This was where our story diverged from the books and the uncertainty was terrifying. On the drive to the hospital the streets were empty. A cop car pulled out behind us and despite his desire to blow all red lights, Brian was compelled to slow down.

We discussed the "what-ifs".

"What if this baby is born now?" Brian asked.
"It's not good." I replied.
We sat in silence.

Even in a major city like Boston, the hospital is quiet at night. I checked in with the OB office where an office worker took all my info.

"Are you in labor?" she asked.
"I hope not." I replied.

We were escorted up to triage where Brian and I sat, held hands, and waited. Waited for our names to be called and waited for someone to tell us that this was all going to be ok.  Minutes ticked by and the relief that we felt for making to the hospital was replaced with an anxious impatience. Why hadn't anyone seen us yet? We sat. And sat some more. Finally we were called.

The doctors had more questions than answers. How long have you been bleeding? What is your pain on a scale of 1-10? How much blood? How often do you bleed? At 4AM we were sent for an ultra-sound where another doctor sat silently studying the images. I wanted him to say something, anything, but his silence scared me. It was clear that idle chit-chat was not appropriate or encouraged. It didn't matter, I didn't know what to say anyway.

The baby was fine but my cervix was shortened. Things were moving. Maybe it was the start of labor but it was possible that it could be slowed down. I was informed that 31 weeks is not good-- 32 is much better. If we could get me to stay pregnant for 4 more days, that would be a help. Though he tried to hide it, there was concern on the doctor's face. I began to cry and the triage nurse hugged me.

At 4:30 Wednesday morning I was admitted and  officially became a labor and delivery patient trying not to have a baby.

Next Up: A Preemie Story - Part 2: "Try Not to Have the Baby"

~Davina

Smile if You're Worried

Yesterday I asked my husband if I worry excessively about our premature son.

"Yes," he replied. "But if we didn't go through what we went through with him I would call you out on it more."

What we went through was life changing. A month of roller coaster  emotions where one day I was home and pregnant, the next in the hospital ready to deliver a baby eight weeks early.

Our son has been home for six weeks now and we are taking him to his two month check-up today. I have a list of questions for the doctor, but what I really want to know is how I stop worrying. I can hear him now, making his baby noises in the pack-n-play and it's all I can do to keep myself from running over to him. Last night he slept on my chest... all night. I dread feeding him because his immature digestive system causes him to writhe in pain for a good 20 minutes after eating. He has not pooped in 6 days.

He has not smiled.

I am waiting patiently. All the books say 6 weeks. Six weeks for a normal full term baby to look at their parents and smile with a glitter in their eyes. The smile that is not gas and in response to the love and care that has been showered for the first few weeks.

However, premature babies have their own time-table. They go by when they should have been born, not by when they were born. By this calculation I am looking at the second week in June for my smile. The smile will mean many things on the development scale, but most of all it will be a sign. A sign that he understands that he's loved.

And maybe, I can stop worrying a little bit.

UPDATE: He Smiled!
http://thebestfriendsguideto.blogspot.com/2010/06/smile-if-youre-worried-update.html

~Davina

Adventures in Shedding the Pregnancy Weight

It's been a long time since I've been to the gym, and boy did I feel it. Yesterday was my first day back to the gym after giving birth 7 weeks ago. Getting back into the groove is no easy task and I can see why women keep about 10 pounds of pregnancy weight after each child.

Forty-four pounds (yes... 44) of pregnancy weight and one baby later it's time. I can't help but think, "why did I have an entire bag of M&Ms each week" and "maybe if I just had a salad instead of pizza I wouldn't have gained that much weight." But I know that's not true.  I get pregnant, I gain weight. It's how my body manages the change.

The question is, where do I start. How do I get rid of the pounds that so easily settled on to the fatty parts of my body? Hello new hips.


If you type in "pregnancy weight loss" into Amazon book search you get over 70 results. No disrespect to these books, but I believe the process to be a simple one. Eat less, workout more. Don't get me wrong, simple does not mean easy-- I just think there are plenty of people looking for an easy fix. It does not exist. It's calories in... calories out. And hopefully the rest falls into place.

I swear by Weight Watchers, but I am sure there are plenty of other diets that can do the trick. I have been attending a Weight Watchers meeting for the past 4 weeks. Since starting the program I am down 8 pounds. I would like it to be more... but it's a start.

In the interest of total transparency I am currently 192. Even typing that number makes me want to give up and eat an entire pizza, but I have been looking longingly at my old clothes and my yoga pants have threatened to move out if I don't give them a day off. I stupidly tried to put on a larger pair of pre-preggers jeans today only to feel like a stuffed sausage.

I did not try to zip them.

So this needs to happen. The question is, will it?

Do our bodies just decide one day to hold onto the weight until we resolve to accept the new us? Pass me another cheese slice please.

The number on the scale certainly does not define me, but it definitely has a choke hold on me. However, it's easy to beat myself up. Everytime I look at a gossip rag I see another celeb who dropped the pounds in a few days. Damn you Heidi Klum and your super human fat cells.

But I'm me and not Heidi Klum, so I keep on my slow and steady path. *sigh* All I know is a cheese pizza would taste mighty good right now.


~Davina