Dance Me (Part 3)

Click for parts one and two of this story.

It was close to midnight before there was an empty delivery room for Matt and me to move into. We had killed the hours leading up to that eavesdropping on the comings and goings around us. An Hasidic jewish lady (apparently pregnant with her 6th child) had been arguing at length with her doctor about things should proceed. We couldn't figure out exactly what there was to to debate heatedly about in her situation. Whatever it was though, she stood her ground, and left the hospital. In a very bad mood, and in labor.

They started me on a low dose pitocin drip (the drug used to artificially stimulate labor) and left us to it. Matt made himself (un)comfortable on the chair-bed in the corner and we both tried to get some sleep. Looking back now, I find it very silly that Matt was permitted to stay that night with me, when I really didn't need him at all, yet not permitted to stay with Kyla and me the following night, when I've never needed him more in my life. You get a huge private room for labor (for obvious reasons), but have to share a cramped space with another mother and newborn once your baby arrives. In the land of private health care and extortionate medical premiums, this surprises me a great deal. I think I was expecting the Ritz. But in the end it seemed no better than the British National Health Service I grew up with.

I don't remember much about that night, except waking up frequently and thinking "if this is labor, it's easy." This is where my first analogy to marathon running slots in. I remember feeling really good at about mile 14 of the New York Marathon in '04, and wondering quite seriously what all the hype was about. Running a marathon is easy, thinks me. Hahaha. Just like a marathon, it's the last 10% of labor that's really trying. Some say it's the 'transition' stage that's the worst, but I have no clue what that even means. I didn't experience any defined 'stages' throughout my labor. From my perspective, pretty much nothing I learned in childbirth class actually happened - with the exception of end result! There was no 'early stage at home/time my contractions until they're 5 minutes apart' nonsense, no transition phase, nothing like that. Just one big blur of activity until pushing time.

Morning came around quickly and they upped the flow of pitocin. Since I was hooked up to a monitor, Matt was able to tell me when I was having contractions, though I couldn't feel them for the longest time. (Again with the "what the heck is all the hype about?" thoughts.) At last I started feeling something. I was shocked - though I now realize how stupid this is - to discover that contractions felt just like period cramps, only more intense. I don't recall hearing or reading them described as such. I had imagined they'd feel like a whole new pain, the likes of which I'd never before experienced.

This went on for a couple more hours, and I was coping ok (leading Matt to believe that ‘painful labor’ is a myth contrived by women to make men feel bad.) But then when he returned from fetching himself some lunch, he found me in agony and in tears. He (later) joked that he suspected some woman had ‘gotten’ to me while he was downstairs, insisting that I keep the conspiracy alive.

It was time to call in the men with the big needles. I regret doing it so early now, but the memory of that poor woman the day before was still fresh, and I didn't want to have to wait until 'seriously unpleasant' escalated to 'entirely unbearable' before getting some pain relief. So I requested my epidural and received it from a junior doctor (important point to note for later in the story) within 15 minutes.

The procedure was nothing. I was so used at this point to being jabbed by needles, that I swear I don’t feel them at all any more.

Time wore on, and as predicted, I was starving – having had nothing but ice chips for 18+ hours. So I broke the ‘rules’ and munched on a PowerBar that I’d stashed in my overnight bag (wishing there were two). I also had Matt fill 2 or 3 glasses with ice so I could let them melt and have a ‘real’ drink. Friends with kids had assured me that a lack of food or drink is that last thing you have to be concerned during the process. I didn’t understand that then, and I understood it even less now I was desperately hungry and thirsty, with hours still to endure before giving birth.

Unfortunately the drugs prompted me to throw the PowerBar right up again. I so extremely paranoid that I’d be caught in my little eating indiscretion, that I had Matt hide the ‘evidence’ down the toilet bowl.

It was after that first vomiting episode that my memories of that day really become hazy…

Up, Up and Away

I hope I'm not jinxing things, but lately it feels like everything's been coming together nicely. At work, in my personal life, and in running, things are looking up. I'm running consistently, learning how to squeeze training into my life with military-style discipline. This week my runs have brought no aches or pains worth mentioning, and I definitely feel myself growing a little stronger. It tells me something when my legs no longer sense the long incline on the 59th Street Bridge on my work commute in the morning.

The fact that marathon training starts in earnest next month has given me all the incentive I require to knuckle down. I wonder if it's unusual to need a marathon - specifically a marathon, not just any race, to motivate me to get out there. Marathon training is my running raison d'etre. I love it.

I perused my old running diaries last night, deliberately checking out how hard I trained for New York in 2004. I happily discovered I averaged just 31 miles per week (for 18 weeks) leading up to that race. I realize that I'm probably not as fit now as I was then, and I'm most certainly fatter, but I'm encouraged by the fact that I did so little and still made my BQ that November. 30 miles per week already seems fairly do-able at this early stage. I don't think I'm going to go much crazier than that for New York '07. It's my spring and autumn 2008 marathons that I intend to pull out all the stops for.

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I'm a little ashamed to admit that many stories on the news hardly touch me. Whole genocides can start and end, and I give them little thought other than at the time I'm reading about them. Once a while though, a story will bother me a great deal. I'll bawl my eyes out a few times, and think about the poor people involved every minute of every day. Over the past couple of weeks it's this story. I can't get it out of my head, and I don't think I ever will. I'm not saying that non-parents wouldn't feel bloody awful about this tragic affair, but I'm sure it's Kyla coming into my life who has caused my powerful sense of empathy here. If you haven't already seen Madeleine McCann's picture all over the place, look here, and please keep an eye out for her. You never know.

And this time it will be a ramble

In spite of the aches and pains threatening to thwart my efforts, I'm pleased with my consistency and mileage over the past couple weeks. My legs survived the 800s on Wednesday, which I find extremely encouraging.

This turns my attention to the fact that I've delayed a return to racing long enough. I've wanted my first race back to mean something to me (not sure why), and not just some random NYRR jaunt in Central Park. That was the reason the More Half with my mum, or the Scotland Run would have been ideal. But since injury precluded both those, I've chosen VCTC's Riverdale Ramble on June 3rd as the one.

It's not a daunting distance like a half, and it's not a 5k or 4-miler, which would have brought extra pressure to go all out. No, a 10K is the perfect distance, and this is the perfect race. Great memories from running this interesting course in 2004 and 2005 have assured its warm, fuzzy place in my heart.

And no, I won't be disappointed to come in closer to last place than first. I'll just enjoy it for what it is: a fun way to resume racing.

Wow, I've just realized this is just three weeks away. I'd better put in some half decent mileage between now and then!

Pain Pixie

I imagine a little pixie living in my body right now, and every few days he decides to move around, wreaking havoc in different areas. The pain I was experiencing in my right butt cheek a few weeks ago vanished, but has now reappeared in the same exact form in my left butt cheek. One minute my right knee is aching, the next, my left. One day, my left IT band is tender to the touch, and after the next run, it's fine but my right is agony.

I don't know what's going on - I seem to be very susceptible to aches and pains (& injuries) right now, even though I'm deliberately taking it easy. I feel like I'm living on that damn foam roller. I wish my body would toughen up already!

Could it possibly be time for new shoes? I started trading off two new pairs of Brooks back in October when I came back to running. I'm not exactly racking up the mileage, so I can't imagine they'd have worn out already and be the cause of my problems? Maybe it's all the extra pounds I'm still carrying. That's got to play a part in the equation, right?

I did something I haven't done in a long time tonight. I ran the 2-point-something miles up to the track, completed some 'speed' work with my club (4 x 800s), then ran home again. Gone (temporarily I hope) are the days when I could knock out 800s in consistent 3:15s though. I'm so nervous that I'll get injured or my legs will be rendered 'dead' for 3 or 4 days afterwards, that I don't mind holding back considerably right now. Still, it was great to do what felt like a really decent workout for once. I was never so fit as when I routinely joined my club for Monday hills and Wednesday speed (plus my own other training runs of course), and I really long for those days back.

Dance me (Part 2)

I have nothing spectacular to report about my running lately - at least nothing that won't involve me complaining bitterly about the heat (and it's only May!) Therefore like it or not, I'm continuing on with the birth story. The first part can be read here.

The labor and delivery ward was extremely busy on my arrival, and so I was kept waiting near the nurses station for about an hour. During this time I feigned absorption in my book, whilst discreetly eavesdropping on the frenetic doctor/nurse/patient goings-on around me.

I learned a lot in that hour, some of which would affect how my own labor would play out over the next 24 hours.

Nurse: "Woman in room three has requested an epidural."
(10 minutes later)
Nurse: "Was the anesthesiologist paged? The woman in room three is still waiting."
(15 minutes later)
Nurse: "She’s getting a little upset now. Where is Dr. xxx? Woman in room three has been waiting almost half an hour."
(20 minutes later)
Nurse: "OK, where is he? I’m going to go get him myself, this is ridiculous."

This little exchange would not have affected me so much, had it not been accompanied by the ‘woman in room three’s screams growing louder and louder, audible every time the nurse entered and exited her room.

NOTE TO SELF: Request an epidural a long time before I suspect I will really need it!

A lovely young resident finally took my history and admitted me. I was hooked up to an unpleasant automatic blood pressure monitor, which took my reading once every ten minutes. By the second go-around my pressure was back down within normal range, but they didn’t take me off the machine for a couple more hours.

Once I was given the all clear on preeclampsia, I should have gone home. I should have waited for Kyla to come naturally, or held on until the 42 weeks ‘max out’ date – whichever came first. I would definitely do this if or when I’m in this situation again. But we were rookies, and both Matt and I were excited and impatient to get things moving, so we acquiesced to the doctor’s recommendation of an induction.

In our child birth class we were encouraged to write a ‘birth plan.’ Even then, I considered the idea somewhat laughable. I must have guessed that there’s no real ‘planning’ possible with the traditional hospital labor process. I did however write a kind of birth ‘anti-plan.’ All it involved was three things I did NOT want to happen: 1) an induction, 2) a c-section or 3) an episiotomy.

With Number 1 down, my minimal ‘anti-plan’ was already crumbling…