Week 8: Blame it on the hormones!

In the midst of one of my "unfortunately timed emotional outbursts" as we have taken to calling weepy time, G made a very good point. He said that I have never really been very good at surfing the hormone wave. He pointed out that when I was on hormonal BC I was sort of a mess which reminded me of puberty, the start of ALL of this. When I was but a wee teenager I would occasionally have these crying jags where all of the sudden, a perfectly lovely afternoon would morph into the end of the world. I would cry and make blanket over generalizations or jump to large and dramatic conclusions about how since I couldn't go to the Alanis Morissette concert "like every single one of my other friends" (or 2 of them...) I was going to become a social pariah and die alone with cats. Or later on in my university years, because mom had expressed concern that it seemed like I was spending more time socializing than studying she was actually the antichrist who never loved me at all and just thought I was a flakey moron with no real future. I was volatile. Back in the days of my "care free youth" my poor father bore the brunt of these hormonal sieges on my rational mind. He says he could always tell when I was about to start my period because I would just loose the plot completely and come to him with some ridiculous crisis or argument that I was in the clutches of. He said it was like clockwork. I would call one night all destroyed and crying so hard I was hiccuping, then a day or two later, I would call again and tell him that "the sun had actually come up" and nothing had been as bad as I had thought after all. This went on for YEARS! Like twelve years. He would listen, if it seemed appropriate (or if he just couldn't hold his tongue any longer) he would offer some gentle advice, he would tell me he was sorry and it sounded hard. Then he would kinda just wait it out with me. When the hormones cooled off again (Progesterone you were a bitch back then and you still rule to torture dungeon!) he would happily join me in my relief that the world had not in fact ended as I had been SO certain it would. He was kinda the perfect man. He never pointed out that I was in the clutches of hormones. Very occasionally and only under the most dire of situations, would he ever even suggest that I was likely just very tired and ought to sleep on the whole thing and try again in the morning. Even though this monthly madness seemed to take me by total surprise every time. I would freak...three days later I would sheepishly admit that I had been exhausted AND I had started my period. He would just laugh a gentle chuckle and say "Hmmm, that would make things harder". He was just there. In his office, in the kitchen, at the other end of the phone. Always unconditionally listening and offering love in return for my pure driven insanity.

When I met The Hubbs (well, after I stopped trying to break up with him for being "too good") I am sure my Dad noticed that my crazy burden was being steadily lifted from his shoulders and I am sure he thought, at least once, "poor bastard. She's his problem now". And he is right. For a while it was quite calm on the Western front. I had been on very low dose hormonal birth control when I was on the NuvaRing but it had its issues and I was really certain I did not want to get pregnant for at least the next 5 years so I opted for an IUD with very low dose intrauterine hormones. Well, for the first year and a half it was bliss. No periods, few mood swings. In fact, and the boys may correct me but this is my blog so na-nah, the bulk of my crazy was reduced to the days when I was just super duper exhausted (which sadly describes almost a third of the time I was in paramedic school and wedding planning and ALL of our time spent house buying and moving). I was very happy with the Mirena for 2 years. Hindsight being 20/20 I now realize that the hormones were subtly troublesome. I was slowing losing any desire at all to have sex. I could have just as easily read my book or watched Millionaire Matchmaker. It wasn't that I couldn't have fun....I was just pretty indifferent about it in general. It wasn't until the wedding, moving, unemployment, new job starting dust settled that I finally called uncle and went to see the Midwife about it. She pointed out that many things could be responsible but agreed that getting off of synthetic hormones was probably a fine idea if we were looking at getting pregnant sometime in the next 1-2 years. But she also told me not to expect any miracles. Well.... yeah, lets just say that I was totally right about this. So, once off of synthetic hormones I was left to my own devices and hormones. Again, I found myself at the mercy of progesterone once a month but I took every opportunity to pat myself on the back and point out that it was "nowhere NEAR as bad as it had been 8 or 10 years ago". The Hubbs was a trooper and we made it through my 24hr lapses in sanity without any major strife. He seemed to be just like my Dad in that respect. He didn't try to fix things he just listened and knew (before I did most of the friggen time) that this was just the hormones talking and I would be myself once the full moon set and the sun came up vanquishing my fir and werewolf ears.

Smash cut to pregnancy week 8.5. The starfish is the size of a "large red grape", I am persistently nauseated and crying in the shower about how awful I feel and how it is even worse because I feel awful about feeling awful and I feel guilty about wishing I felt like myself because this is supposed to be a beautiful magical process and I should be grateful to even have the chance to feel this awful. What does G do? He turns up the water to what is soothing for me though waay to hot for his comfort, rubs my back and kisses my head. He says "Hush sweety. It's going to be ok. It's going to get better. You are doing really well. I am so proud of you. It's going to be ok." And I believe him. He continues "This is just the hormones beating you up. This isn't really you. It only seems hard because you can't think clearly. You are doing so well. I love you so much". And if only for a second, I feel totally and completely heard. I catch my breath between sobs and say "this is so stupid. This isn't me and I hate feeling so crazy for no reason". He just says "It's all gonna be ok".

I didn't see my Dad in G when we met. I had moments where I was determined to find someone who would not be like my Dad so that I wouldn't be tempted to fall into the bad habits that are possible when you are with someone who loves you that unconditionally. That was stupid. G is all of the very best things that exist in my Dad. He is kind, he is a fucking awesome listener. He knows when to fix and when to just say "that sounds so hard". He knows crazy from a mile out and doesn't feel the need to rub it in my face. But above and beyond all of that he just loves me. He loves me for the great things about me and in spite of the rough spots. He is as unconditional as the air I breathe. He is an amazing partner and he is going to be an amazing Dad.

Let me just say a word or two about "Morning Sickness"

F-U-C-K T-H-I-S!

Sorry for the profanity but I swear to all that is holy, this is the hardest part. I will kick labor's ASS compaired to how I am handling being nauseated for nearly 3 weeks straight! I feel like shit ALL THE TIME! I want to know who those ladies are who say they had all the sex during the first trimester and I want to pull their hair. That's right 4th grade playground style. I want to be mean to them so they feel one tenth of how I feel nearly all the hours I am awake and some of the hours I spend trying to sleep.

I am nauseated when I wake up. I try to eat something and it usually makes me feel even worse. I try tea. Yuck. I try to think of what might taste good and honestly, nothing sounds good most of the time. I try ginger and bland foods. I try drinking shakes or green juices. Our garden is blooming with beautiful lettuces and peas and broccoli and I want nothing to do with any of it. Watermellon, chicken soup and toast. That is the short list of foods I can handle. Ocassionally chips.

I LOVE food. I have long lived for food. Now, I am so turned off by the sight, smell, even the thought of food is often enough to make me cringe and gag. Today, I walked into a care facility and immediately was overwhelmed by the smell of "lunch". I found the visitor bathroom and puked so hard I hit my chin on the toilet seat. Uggh!

**Update** I just had a really lovely phone chat with a sweet friend who has been my long-distance midwife for the past 6+ weeks and she gave me just the pep talk I needed. She reminded me that things are changing day to day so I am not necissarily reading my own signals wrong just maybe they are changing. She does say I need to eat more frequently to avoid the awful nausea (no more 4 hr stretches between eating). She reminded me that the Starfish is growing all day and all night and requiring lots from my body all the time. I know that sounds like a "duh" thing but honestly, it is hard to remember when you don't see the changes yet or feel the kicking yet, that you are infact growing a whole person in there from scratch! I need to remember to honor what my body is trying to do here.

Well, that is just about all I have to say on being sick. Oh, except that the morning part is a total crock. It is 1930 right now and I feel like yarfing. So take that what to expect! And remember...expect nothing and let what comes be a pleasant suprize. And would someone do me a favor and remind me how much I am going to love this little starfish when I finally meet them in the dark moments when I am alone and The Hubbs is at work and I feel like crying. Because there are those moments. I am happy to be here on the team but honestly, I did not expect it to be quite like this.

It All Happened So Fast!

I bet you are thinking I am talking about getting pregnant right? Just 2 weeks of care free sex and laughter.... No. I am talking about the signs and symptoms of pregnancy. As I have said before, I grew up around pregnant women in my Mother's midwifery practice. I thought you walked around feeling and looking very normal for a while and then BLAM! Your belly popped and you looked/felt pregnant. Well, let me tell my inner child something. I felt pregnant 3 days after having that morning sex. Three days later my breasts looked odd. They felt heavy and hot and were sensitive to my shirt through my bra. By 7 days they were busting up and over the top of the bra. I had quadraboob. I had to revert back to my heavier days bra and man alive did these things feel heavy! Walking downstairs to the bathroom before bed with nothing but my t-shirt on I cried out in discomfort as they felt like they were 4 feet out infront of me and totally unsupported. Ouch! By day 10 I was tired. Really bone crushingly tired. I also ached. I felt like I had the flu. No nausea but profound exhaustion, mild body aches and intermittent dizziness. I was still in the halucinating the little pink line at this point mind you so it was "possible" I was just gearing up for the mother of all periods. Then the period didn't come, the blue cross confirmed it and whammo! I was in the running to become someone's mother.

The first thing I might need to explain is that when they calculate "how far along" you are they add the 2 weeks before you would even ovulate. So when someone says "I am 12 weeks along" they have been actually knocked up for something like 10 weeks. The first 2 weeks are a gimme since it would be really really hard to determine when exactly you ovulated and conceved so they just start things off from the first day of you last period as that is 1. The scientificly accepted Day 1 of your cycle that month and 2. A day most women can at least sort of pin point.

Ok, so by the time I was 5 weeks along (pregnant for 3 weeks) I could 1. pee on a stick and make it change colors 2. Sleep for days on end if I had the chance 3. Eat ALL the CHOCOLATE (eventhough I am not really a very big chocolate fan in real life) 4. Get winded running like I was some kind of closet chain smoker 5. Cry over nothing like a day time soap star. I had pretty regular nightly body aches which were really bad if I had not taken an afternoon nap. The unfortunately timed emotional outbursts were well, always unfortunately timed and over absolutely nothing real EVER! I also started getting really nauseated if I got hungry. As long as I ate though I was fine.

Week 6 we were at the country fair and I honestly was so excited to go to fair but was so sick for just about the entire 5 days we were there. I puked a few times, tried to nap but it was like our tent had been set up on the surface of the sun! It was HOT durring the day. I just felt generally crummy. Ocassionally I would be able to push through it when it wasn't so bad. I could take a tylenol and make it work somethimes. Other times it just sucked. I felt sad that I wasn't feeling 'fun'. Every meal was a potential land mine. I had to FORCE myself to eat my favorite cheesecake in the whole world people! Nothing was sacred. I made it through the fair and all in all had a good time, even if I didn't really feel like myself for much of it. And possibly, most importantly, The Hubbs was seeming to adjust to me being less than my ususall up for everything and anything self. He was patient, loving and continued to have a sense of humor for both of us.

When I was heading home from the Fair I puked on the bus. Can we just take a second and mourn the innocence that I lost bending over the toilet in the bus? I thought I had seen gross up close and personal....nope. This trip home marked the start of super sick week 7. I had been doing a really good job with food and vitamins and water up until this week. I had even been avoiding drugs like zofran, an antiemetic very good at knocking down nausea and shown to be totally safe in pregnancy. I was trying hard to just muddle through with ginger tea and naps. This week that was no longer an option. Turns out I have a very strong stomach and I can be really really nauseated for a super long time before I give in a puke. Work involves me waking up at 0245 to start my shift on the ambulance at 0400. Ass early! My stomach really hates this. I was almost late several days this week 7 rotation because I was SURE I was going to puke and I just needed another second with the toilet. Well, no, I just waited until I was pulling in to work and puked in the dumpster there. Uggh! I then proceeded to feel generally green for most of the rest of the day. This lasted the entire 4 days. I caved so hard! I took the zofran. Sometimes twice a day just to make it through my 12 hr shift. My work partner, bless his soul, is a father of two adult boys and a happy grandfather of one (so far). He told me about his wife's pregnancies and puking into the popcorn bucket at the movies. Awesome. He is sweet and considerate and asks me how I am doing. He even bought me a sprite which sounds stupid but at the moment it happened I had been driving and feeling so awful it was all I could do to just grip the wheel and get us from point to point. He went into the store to get lunch and I was literally, just trying to sit still and not yack in the ambulance. When he smiled and handed me the sprite with a ton of ice I could have cried.

I think feeling lonely in all of this is one thing I never expected. I thought, oh, people love pregnant ladies. This will be all sparkles and joy. Instead, I have found this early period a little lonely as we are not telling people until we make it to 12 weeks, with the exception of best friends, work partners and eventually family. I am dying to tell my mother. I will see her just as I round 9.5 weeks. I want to tell her face to face and see her face when I tell her I am going to give her a grandbaby. That means though, that I am forgoing all the advice and nurturing my mom is renound for as a midwife. Somedays that is harder to maintain than others. Like today when I am missing her like crazy.

So, yeah. I think this has been the biggest whirlwind I have ever experienced. It all seems to be on the up and up. I have battled the crushing fatigue, the ginormous breasts, the emotions, the cramping, the burping and am currently working on the nausea and food aversions. I am moving right along. Before I know it we will be 2 months in and it will be time to make some decisions about testing and ultrasounds and painting rooms...But lets just keep it simple for a little longer shall we? Can we? Please?

Playing with Guns

The Hubbs and I have known we wanted kids since I think our second date. He is creative and enthusiastic and loving and all sorts of other things that will make him a really great dad. I have grown up with a mother who cared for her laboring women and pregnant mothers like they were her family and then spent 10+ years raising other people's children to various degrees as a nanny and thus, have been waiting all my life for my turn to be a pregnant woman and then a mother. I should admit that I have always looked at pregnancy with the same degree of mystic awe as I have for zero gravity and space travel. I looked at both as things that you could probably never truly describe to anyone who hadn't been there first hand and, as someone who had not been there first hand, I felt I couldn't 'know' until I had been there. But, it seemed so cool. It seemed like this amazing process that I was so curious about I could hardly wait for my turn.

On the other hand. I loved my life just as it was. Sleeping in, eating out, hanging with friends, taking spontaneous trips, working rock medicine at festivals....The Hubbs and I had a beautiful thing here so why muddy the soup? I had waited 28 years and another 2-3 were not going to kill me. Then things started happening around us. Friends who had waited to try were struggling. Friends who seemed totally healthy were taking pretty big fertility meds and in not one but THREE heartbreaking cases, friends who had made progress experienced big losses. I was starting to think nobody just "got pregnant" anymore. At least not without many months of calculated effort and potentially some pharmaceutical assistance. I started to worry that if we waited until everything was perfect to "try" we would end up waiting another year or two to get pregnant. I told this to G and he thought he understood but he maintained that I was going to be a baby making machine and that we would get pregnant right away. I remained dubious and fretted some more.

I asked The Hubbs if he reeeeeally understood how small a window we were working with on this whole thing. Did he know that an egg is only viable for like 36hrs and then its no good? Did he know that my hormone levels have to be just right to keep the pregnancy happily ensconced in my uterus long enough to build a placenta and make it to 12 weeks safely out of the first batch of woods? Did he realize that since we work 4/4 and with my upcoming schedule change we would never see each other long enough for sex on days on making it more than 72hrs and OMG what if I ovulated on the morning of day2? There would never be enough left over sperm or a strong enough egg and we may have month after month of "missing our window". This was a potential fertility minefield did he realize THAT!?

He lovingly listened to my nutty, if scientifically accurate, explanation for why I wanted us to abandon the condoms and just "let it be" for a while. I felt like if we waited I was going to be very very (neurotically) ready when we decided to let fly and try for real opening up the very likely possibility that I would become a bit of a hyper focused mess if it didn't happen after the start gun went off because "I HAD WAITED AND NOW WAS TIME FOR MAKE BABY!!!" I said if we just open the window and see what happens I think it would be easier for me/us to adjust to 'woops that was sooner than planned' rather than 'what is wrong with me? Why arent we pregnant yet?'. The Hubbs remained steadfast in his beliefs that we would have no trouble and I would be a machine however, he admitted that he had never realized there was such a small window. He said sex ed in middle school had done such a good job he was still convinced he was walking around with a loaded gun in his pocket which at any moment could go off and knock someone up without any consideration of where they were in their cycle. I sort of chuckled at how cute that was but assured him 'no, these things are not instantly that simple'.

We talked and I cried a little bit while admitting that I felt ready and really wanted this chance sooner rather than later. We talked some more and The Hubbs seemed to be assimilating the new information and genuinely changing his perspective. We ended the conversation agreeing that 'oops' now was preferable to 'why not?!' later. Then we went upstairs and gleefully tossed the box of condoms from the bedside table.

I had begun reading the book Taking Charge Of Your Fertility and tracking my temperature and cervical mucous. Sounds gross but actually VERY informative! This was only my first month of tracking and it was sort of all over the place, not helped by my nutty work schedule. I was having trouble determining if I was seeing changes indicative of fertility and my temp was all over the place so I had chalked this month up to data collection. I was looking forward to gathering 6 months or so of data so I could really get to know my cycles and if I had fertility problems I could take my chart to the midwives and we could figure it out by the glorious months of data I had collected. During all of this The Hubbs and I were enjoying the condom free world we now lived in and joked about "practice" making perfect. We were doing it all the time. One morning, after three other mornings of being ships in the night due to hold over for him at work he got home in time for literally 5 minutes of sex. I was working with a mutual friend that day and G jokingly texted him "My gift to you this day 4 (our Friday) is a happy partner". Indeed, I went to work feeling all giddy like a college kid with a new boyfriend. The next week I switched to a new work schedule where we literally DID NOT see eachother for 4 solid days. I continued to track my data and since my period had been really early the month before I wasn't totally clear when to expect it this month. The work week came and went...the weekend came and went and there I was....charting my data on day 35 of my cycle. Looking back at my calendar and doing my best to speculate I noted that I hadn't had a cycle over 28 days ever? Was that right? I peed on three sticks....negative...."WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CANT TELL IF I AM 10 DAYS PREGNANT OR NOT?! Stupid test!" I began to feel changes in my body. By breasts were pretty huge actually...who's boobs were these? I thought I must be about to get my period. But my breasts usually swell when I ovulate like 2 weeks before my period...hmmmm. More sticks....more negatives....more cursing....bigger boobs and now they sort of felt electric.

I am sure at this point G was convinced I had gone straight crazy and wanted nothing more than to retract his agreement to this whole thing. This is just about the point where I started getting really, really, soul crushingly tired. I have been a night shifter, a school followed by night shift in a busy trauma center-er for years. I honestly used to go to class, go home for a sandwich, go to work all night, come home and sleep for 3 hrs and go back to class....it SUCKED! But I did it and I only complained a little (right honey?). This was a new sort of exhausted that I had never felt before. When it came on it was like a rain cloud. I had to seek shelter and FAST! Otherwise I would start stumbling around like a sleep walking 5 year old bumping into things and crying. Naps were not optional. I was blasted tired and my body ached from head to toe but exponentially more at the tatas.

We were getting ready to spend 5 days working rock medicine at a techno festival out in the middle of nowhere Oregon when I woke up early and peed AGAIN! By this point I was almost certain I was pregnant. I had very vivid hallucinations of a faint pink line the day before and had warned a girlfriend or two that I thought I was 'for reals'. This morning there it was, the little blue plus sign. Not bold but dark enough to be sure I wasn't hallucinating. I decided this was it, I went upstairs to execute operation "You'se gonna be a daddy". I had bought this sock puppet kit for G thinking it could be a cute way to tell him. This morning I had the test in one hand and the sockodile in the other. "Pick a hand". He chose the sockodile. I explained to him that I had this "new project" I was working on and I didn't want him to feel left out so I got him a project too. He looked confused as he held the kit. Then I showed him what I had in my other hand and he said "Awwhhh, Oh my goodness" on a loop for about 15 minutes while he kissed me and hugged me and stared at me like I had just cured cancer or something. I kept asking over and over "Is this OK? Is this Ok?" and he laughed and said "OF COURSE! This is great!"

That week at the festival was a lot of fun. I took my mandatory naps and learned that tums are excellent for backaches as the calcium is a great muscle relaxant. I tried very hard not to obsess over every little cramp or twinge but it was hard. If my boobs didn't hurt more than the day before I was sure it meant I was about to start my period. I was only 3 weeks out from that fateful morning anyway. When I got home I peed on another stick "just to be sure". This time there was no question. I was pregnant. It was the middle of the day and I had been drinking lots of water. I was really really pregnant.

Nine and a half hours...

Yesterday I ran 32.5 miles of trail. It took me 9 hours 35min and 16 seconds. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I started running long ten years ago when I saw my big brother run his first marathon. I saw all the people in different shapes and sizes running fast/slow/in between and I thought "I could do that". When my family snickered at my hubris I was that much more determined and I started running the very next day. I didn't stop for 6 months until I crossed the finish line. Last November I went to run a 10k sort of on a lark, to support a friend who was running her first 50k, a distance I couldn't wrap my mind around. There I experienced that wonder anew as I watched men and women of all shapes and sizes digging deep and running long. In particular, I met one woman who was on a quest. I didn't know quite what the quest was but I could just feel it. She had run several recent marathons and was now a Maniac (whatever that was). She was in the last 10k of her 50k and with double pneumonia she, like everyone else, was hurting. But she kept going. She was upbeat and positive in spite of the physical challenges. She shared a GU with me. I thought it might have just been the endorphins in the air but I felt a heart connection with this stranger and as I drove myself home that day I felt like maybe we wouldn't be strangers much longer.

On April 10th I ran my first marathon in 10 years. It was rainy and hilly and hard. I had battled shin splints and body image issues and depression all winter but it was my birthday week and I was ready! I started amid a pack of really amazing women. Several of whom I had met that rainy November day. Beside me was the stranger. By now we were FAR from strangers. We had run 5ks and trail runs and exchanged countless messages of encouragement and friendship. She was my pacer and my friend. When I hit the wall emotionally very early on (mile 6) she just kept running and encouraged me to think about something else and to "change the soundtrack" in my head. When I came over the wall 8miles later she was still there to celebrate. At the finish line she beat me to the tears but just barely.

On May 1st I ran the next marathon. Again, my friend at my side from the very beginning. I had told her my goal was to stay positive no matter what. I knew running wasn't going to kill me so I was determined to make the most of it in my soul and spirit. I wanted to stay grateful for the capacity and the privilege to run. We packed "Jelly Beans of Optimism" and hit the road running. This time the wall was physical. I started to really hurt just before hitting the half way point. I knew it was only a matter of time before I would shuffle over the finish line and so I kept moving through the pain. My feet hurt, my knees felt like they might be made of broken glass. I was just in so much pain. But we laughed and sang and, this time with the presence of yet another inspiring woman, made it across the finish line together. The three Amigas.

There had been a bunch of schedule shuffling and gall bladder removal surgery and general upheaval in the weeks leading up to the race and thus, I had spent some serious time coming to terms with the idea that I might well be alone for much of this race. I was ok with that. The stranger had another race she was responsible to that weekend and my pit crew was in varying stages of readiness to jump in for legs. I had my head in the game though. And I knew the stranger would be meeting me at some point before the end to help bring me in. The night before joy of joys, the stranger texted me to let me know she was coming and would be there for the whole thing. This was like music to my soul. I packed my backpack and laied out my shoes and said a little prayer before going to bed.

The next morning I set off with around 100 other people up the trail and over the bridge. Only 40? of us were running to insanity and back but there was a 20k that morning as well. The trail was full of happy strong runners. I was at the back of the pack quite quickly and with the stranger by my side I was perfectly fine with it. I had been last at that marathon 10 years ago and it hadn't killed me then. This wasn't going to kill me either. I was in zen brain. Then the sweeper caught up to us. I started to feel anxious and rushed and guilty for being so slow and asking so much of him to be out here ALL day with me. He was a very pleasant man who had run a killer trail marathon the day before and seemed genuinely fine with whatever I wanted to do. He told us he was a sheriff and showed me his badge. He said he had volunteered to be the sweeper 1. Because he was training for Pikes Peak and an upcoming 100mile race and just wanted to get miles and miles in. (I told him he was more likely to just get hours and hours in) and 2. Volunteering for this race gave him free entry into another race later in the season and he was going to pick a big expensive one so he was "just happy to be here". I realized after a while that I was the only one who questioned my presence on the trail and it was rude to project it onto him so I mostly shut that train of thought down.

The first 20k was not so bad. My low back was hurting and I was having odd pelvic cramps but other than that it was nothing I couldn't handle. The stranger and I had a lot to catch up on from the weeks apart. At the 2ok mark LFS joined us and she was a breath of fresh air. She happily plodded along at my shuffling pace. This 10k segment was a loop at the top of the trail and it was steep climb after steep climb. Every climb seemed to induce profound nausea in me. I felt like my stomach was being forced into my lungs and I was sure my low back would break. LFS carried my water pack for me for the last 2/3 of the loop. The tears came on this loop. Though only a few because it was too hard to cry, breathe and try to avoid puking up the hills. I knew in my heart that I was going to finish. I was just experiencing sad and afraid. It was ok I kept saying over and over "I'm OK. I'm just sad. This is just hard". LFS just walked beside me and gave me her quiet strength. Something I will never forget. She carried me up that hill if she knows it or not. All the while the stranger stayed just a bit ahead of me modeling "doing it" just like I needed her to. She ran on the flats and the down hills and walked the ups. One foot in front of the other. All the while my cop was right at my heels.

When we finished the Everest Loop as I will now forever refer to it, I saw my husband at the top of the rise to the aid station. "Honey! Put on your shoes and take off your pants. I need you". He snapped into action. I struggled to get some boiled potato dragged in salt and half of a chocolate ensure down while he geared up. I heard the stranger talking to the folks at the table "Yeah, I want to keep her moving". We were off and shuffling again. The next little while was the 10k of painful feet. I kept chasing the cramps with apple cider vinegar mixed with ginger syrup and grape juice. The nausea kept after me for hours. Finally we reached the last aid station and I knew that there was only another 10k left and I could certainly do that. It was almost all down hill too. No more heart breaking, back breaking, nausea producing climbs. But my body was hurting so much. My feet no longer able to modify the stride or the strike to ease the pain, my hips and knees no longer able to absorb the pounding. I felt beat.

Somewhere in the last 3 miles something snapped. I couldn't listen to anyone talking any more. I couldn't interact anymore. I was struggling so hard I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I went someplace else. I imagined holding my brain like a crying infant and said "there there, go to sleep". I said this over and over until my busy brain finally gave up and went to sleep. I don't remember any of the conversations or much of the surroundings. I just know that I started running again. Not the waddle of the pregnant penguin (I know they lay eggs but that is how I felt). I was running. Slowly but full out. My body didn't hurt. My vision was mostly dim except where the path of least resistance seemed to glow, inviting my feet to "tread here. This is the easiest and safest path". I just went with it. A few times I sort of came out of it and started to struggle but I just whispered "There there, back to sleep" and I was gone again. The stranger and G took off just before the finish line and my cop went too. It was safe now. I was assured a finish. I put my whole heart into those last 2.5 miles and I finished stronger than I have ever finished anything in my life. It was not the broken shuffle of a girl in over her head. It was the strongest run I had and it WAS a run. My little family was around me and some perfect strangers on a picnic table shouted and clapped as I crossed the finish line. Spent but proud. Inspired by my own actions. Drenched in gratitude.

Even when it has to be your own body on the wrack it is the love and support all around that make things like this possible. These are the fires where friendship is born and where people become heroes to themselves. I must honestly say that I don't fear pregnancy and childbirth the same way I did on May 28th. I have a strength inside that I never could have fathomed. I have steel inside. Additionally, I have love all around. Between the two, anything, ANYTHING is possible. The stranger showed me that.

Tomorrow I will run a very long way

Tomorrow I am running the Forest Park 50k. I have never run 50k before. I am excited and anxious. I have trained hard for this race. Even though it feels like I have been tapering since March I have run 2 marathons and many other runs and trips to the gym between now and then. The goal was to get to this point uninjured. I have arrived. Other than an ache in my R arch I don't have any real pain on running these days. I am shocked to have made it this far.

Tomorrow's run is a big deal to me. This will be the hardest thing I have ever done. I have guaranteed myself that it will hurt but I have worked very hard at making peace with that. I am expecting the first 2 hours to be fun, the middle 4 hours to be the sucky hours of intermittent walls and aches and pains followed by the last 2 hours which will just be a blurr. I am as mentally ready as I will ever be. Now I just need to get my shit together. I need to pack my backpack, change the sheets on my bed, try to put some tunes on my ipod in case it gets super hard and I need a distraction, clean the bathroom, wash my running skirt and coordinate with the folks who are running legs with me. It may not sound like much but it feels like a lot.

After writing yesterday's post I felt a little better about the whole thing but still pretty confused. I feel like my life has all of these layers. There are the layers of work, layers of running, layers of traveler, layers of fancy free young woman and layers of the woman I really want to become. I don't know how to manage all of those things. What do you do when your layers seem to contradict one another or at least don't seem fully compatible? How do you reconcile the layers? I don't know yet. I know that I am going to take the example of some of my girlfriends and just take it one day at a time and one goal at a time. Today my goal is to get ready to run the best, hardest run of my life tomorrow. Tomorrow my goal will be to stay positive, and to not die. Maybe tomorrow night my goal will be to drink an entire Burgerville fresh strawberry milkshake....mmmm that sounds wonderful already. Next week my goals will include learning how to stay even keeled now that we have officially put an end to the era of condoms and sponges. It isn't going to happen right away and that is for the best. I would be very happy if it happened in 5-6 months but looking at my cycle and our work schedule it may indeed, be like shooting a cannon through a bathroom window. Days on for us will soon mean we don't even have the 10 mins together a day we have now. I will be 0400-1600 and he is 1730-0530 but has to leave at 1630 to get to work and doesn't get home until around 0630. So, yeah...no sex then. And that is fine. I am happy to just let it go knowing that we are not holding out for a year down the road accumulating expectations and hopes for the next 12 months. It is no Venus Demilo but maybe it is my shell on the foam after all. It is the difference between "Trying" and "no longer trying to avoid it". It feels like there is more space here.

So, tomorrow I have lots to think about out there on the trail. There will be no shortage of mental entertainment. I think this run is an analogy for so many things I am about to do. I am just grateful to have the chance to get out there and experience my mind this way and my body this way. I will let you know what I come out with on the other side and how the milkshake tasted.

You can't unring a bell: How growing up in labor and delivery makes it very hard to just relax and let pregnancy come to me

This week I thought I was pregnant. No, we haven't been "trying". But there was some birthday sex and well, let's just say we (in a total spontaneous flight of fancy) left the window open. I was excited and totally freaked out. G was not as excited but he made new and exciting revelations about how ready he actually is every day. It seemed like all he was going to need was time. I, on the other hand felt, and sort of continue to feel very, very conflicted about all of it. In many ways I have been waiting my whole life to get pregnant. The way some little boys dream about becoming astronauts, I dreamt about becoming pregnant. Growing up the daughter of a Nurse Midwife running a private practice, many years mostly solo, one of the only ways to spend time with my mom as a pre-teen and teenager was to take her dinner to the hospital or birth center where she was attending to laboring women, or to drive to home visits with her on Sunday.

My mother was super unorthodox. She is a pretty awesome woman and a total bad ass. As I child I would never have gone to mom for the skinned knee. She was the one who was re roofing the barn or mowing the lawn, my father was the snugly one who you begged to let you into the bed after a bad dream or who would know just how to make that skinned knee better or soothe the sore throat. My Mom was fun and strong and hardworking but she was by NO stretch of the imagination the nurturing one. I didn't even know if she had a soothing whisper voice for when things were scary in the middle of the night. That was what Dad's side of the bed was for.

When I was 10 years old my mom came into my room and asked if I would like to come to a birth with her. WOULD I?! I jumped at the chance to hang out with my Mom. I would have followed her through a burning building! I was so excited to get the chance to see what she DID all those nights she left before dawn and didn't return until the next night, spent and hungry and looking like she had been to war. I was quiet on the drive to the hospital. I was so excited. She parked me in the call room (my only source for cable TV or ANY TV to speak of for the bulk of my childhood) tossed me a hand full of individually wrapped graham crackers and told me she would be back. I was in heaven! It was already past my bedtime and it all felt very secret mission-ee. Several questionable TV programs later she returned and said "OK, you ready?" She took my hand and walked me down the dimly lighted hall to a brightly lit room where a woman with a VERY pregnant belly was sitting in a bed nursing her toddler. I was introduced to the RN who gave me booties to wear over my flip flops. Mind you, I was 10 and just thought it was strange to see a toddler nursing as I knew nothing of nipple stimulation for encouragement of labor progression yet. The woman looked tired but also looked like a warrior. She glowed with this sort of strength and resolve that I found very intriguing. My mother made introductions and the warrior looked me in the eye and said "It is an honor to have you here for this. Is this the first time you have come to a birth with your mom?" I was a gregarious little thing and said "Yes" and "thank you for having me" as if I had been invited to dinner or the movies with someone new. I spent several more hours in the call room with the nurses at the desk checking on me from time to time. I slept and watched more questionable TV. Several hours later one of the nurses came and woke me up saying "it's time". I was escorted down the hall where my mom was in full battle dress and wheeling a mirror out of the hall closet into the room. "Hiya kiddo, you ready?" I didn't have a clue what I was "ready" for but I said yes. I walked in and the warrior in the bed looked very different now. She was sweaty and all wadded up in the middle of the bed. Her toddler was in grandma's arms beside her. She had steel in her eyes and glanced at me, breaking her focus for just a second before the next contraction to wink at me. Mere moments later she was pushing and my mom was giving her instructions in a soothing night time voice I had never heard before. The warrior pushed and my Mom encouraged and before I knew it I felt the hands of the nurse guiding me into a chair she had pushed behind me. I sat down hard as the head delivered and I remember letting out a sound like "ohhahh". Then I was crying for no reason as my mom pushed this slimy, wet, pink and blue mess onto the warrior's chest still speaking in the soothing voice. It was the most magical thing I had ever seen. There had been 5 people in this room and now there were 6 and the doors and windows were all closed. Now there were 6 people breathing and living and moving and making noise in that room. It was all it took. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was magic and I wanted to be a part of it. This one night lead me to many many more nights with my mom in the dark hallways of the labor and delivery unit, the stairways of the birth center, the back bathrooms of people's houses. I spent the next 18 years thinking about women and the journey of pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood/familyhood. I spent the next 18 years, the last 18 years thinking about when it would be my turn to be a warrior.

Nursing school, a degree in biology, over 30 births attended in all fashion from fly on the wall to child caregiver, photographer to labor coach and resident bouncer taught me a shit ton about women's health, fertility, pregnancy, sex, labor and babies. What I fear now is that like the unwitting witness of a crime I "know too much". I know that, despite what the sex ed teacher wanted me to believe, I only have a 36hr window where I can get pregnant. After that, it is a very delicate and frankly fucking miraculous dance of floating eggs, determined sperm and hormones that needs to be executed nearly perfectly for there to even be a chance of fertilization let alone implantation, let alone holding on to viability and then term. This is one nasty ass obstacle course for some clusters of cells with no eyes, ears or brains (sperm and egg) to work through before you end up someones mom. It feels like shooting a cannon through a bathroom window...the odds of missing are HUGE.

So, now, I am coming up on 30, my magical age for taking up the mantle of warrior as determined by my ten year old self that night. I have a wonderful husband, a beautiful house, a great job, beautiful friends and community and I am scared out of my mind that I am going to be a neurotic mess. The Hubbs and I have talked in varying degrees of specificity about the when. It seems to be a fluid concept. But no matter when the when is I am afraid that I will be unable to put down the thermometer and charts and just throw away the condoms and have sex. I don't know how to stop looking at the charts and pinpointing the most likely days and what I WANT is to be one of those women who floats into pregnancy on a clam shell and sea foam of zen goddessness. I want to just let it all go and let it happen. The problem is I am ready to just let it happen and if I get pregnant next month cool, if not, fine maybe in September....The Hubbs doesn't know the science and all the possible ways I can obsess between now and a year from now. He also doesn't know to what extent waiting will stoke the fires of my obsession as it seems that you can't swing a recycled grocery bag without hitting a pregnant woman or a newborn in Portland. They are freaking EVERYWHERE!

So, I wasn't pregnant this month. Instead, I had one of the worst periods starting on my first day back to work. I am a Paramedic which means I drive around in an ambulance all day (12hrs) with an old guy (my partner) who thinks he knows everything about everything and is more than happy to plaster you with his opinions and knowledge and if you don't have any questions for him that's fine he'll just talk about anything or nothing. I have no control over when/if I can get to a bathroom as, if a call drops we will walk away from food we have paid for and scoot to the ambulance. More than once this week, I threw away underpants that were just totalled from running a call when I really needed a ladies room. Yay periods! Anyway, this week sucked. I was cramping, bleeding like I had been shot, crying for no particular reason and thinking about how unready I am to raise a small person. I feel conflicted. I am afraid to become a warrior but simultaneously dying to become a warrior. I feel like I need the power taken out of my perceived control...I want to throw away the condoms and just see what happens before my heart breaks and my head explodes.