Saturday, March 11, 2017

Souped up

"You can't bargain with the truth
'Cause for those who were deceived
There'll be no reprieve
There'll be no time to believe in the end."



That's the first picture of work on our new house. The basement walls - which had just been poured - to be precise. Shit is getting real. You know that's true when they bring in the porta potty.

A few days ago, I got a second bead soup from my partner, Andra Weber, in the Bead Soup Blog Party. Andra felt like she'd second-guessed herself and, after looking at my Facebook page, had sent me beads that weren't her original intent for the exchange. In the long run, she decided to go with her first instincts and send me the soup she'd originally planned to send.

If this sounds inarticulate, it's because I sincerely appreciated the first soup, but rather than look a gift horse in the mouth, I'll just say thank you and shoulder the challenge of making at least two creations for the March 25 reveal.

Here is the second soup Andra sent me.


There's a beautiful lampwork focal and matching pair, along with Czech beads and crystals and some sweet pink opalite. There's also a strand of gemstone beads and a strand of large pink crystals.

Here's another look at the focal set, the rest of the beads and a tube of seed beads that were in the package.


I have my work cut out for me. You know what I'll be doing on March 24.

So, as I mentioned about 5 or 6 posts ago, it was 102 degrees the day Chelsea was born. After we found out, at 37 weeks, that she was transverse breech, we were resigned to having a C-section. I asked my OB about trying to turn her and she was adamantly opposed.

My original due date was August 16, 1988. A friend pointed out that if I had my C-Section on the eighth, her birthday would be 8-8-88. The idea appealed to me. I asked my doctor about it and she was agreeable. But there was a hitch. She was taking a week of vacation, returning on August 7, and she wouldn't schedule the surgery without doing an amnio to test lung maturity. I'm clueless why this would have been an issue at 39 weeks. But it was what it was.

The hospital would only schedule C-Sections in the morning, so my doc came up with a plan. I'd go in for the amnio that morning, and when she got the results, we'd get me in by saying that my water broke. Oh, I talked the doctor into signing me off work for the week she was away so that I could put up my feet and sip wine to ward off labor. With a face-down, transverse lie, you definitly don't want to go into labor. Nothing good happens when the cord is born first.

So on the morning of August 8, Jon and I went to the hospital in the small hours to have the amnio. We went home and I let my pediatrician know that I'd be having the baby that day. Mid-afternnon we got the amnio results and the game was afoot. The doctor sent me to the hospital, saying my water had broken.

The hosital staff was suspicious. Apparently my pediatrician had called to ask if the baby had arrived. They asked me a lot of questions, I made up answers on the fly. No I hadn't brought along any soaked garments. Yes, I'd felt a trickle of liquid but I'd taken a shower. They did some sort of test but got an equivocal result. My doctor showed up after office hours and took charge, She said, I'm not taking any chances. She said, prep her.

There was a lot of rigmarole, being hooked up to monitors, meeting the anesthesiologist, getting an IV, a catheter, an epidural. They wheeled my into surgery, My arms were strapped to some sort of boards, presumably so that I didn't try to assist the doctor. The put up a little curtain at my midriff. The lights were very bright, there were a lot of people in the room, including neonatal specialists for higher risk deliveries. It was loud, people were talking about pre-season football, I was pretty much that patient etherized upon that table.

Then my doctor breezed in, all suited up and gloved, and this is what she said to me. I told you I'd have to do a vertical incision, right? Well, no, you didn't. I thought I'd have a bikini-line incision like everyone else. She eyed me. She said, well, I can do that, I can just make a really wide cut, but if you get a bad baby, it isn't my fault.

I am not making that up. Those were her words. You don't forget words like those.

And what are you gonna do? Take risks with your babie's health before she's even breathed one breath. No, I didn't think so. I said, do the verticle incision.

I remember I did a lot of screaming. I didn't feel any surgical pain, but I felt my organs being rearranged. I felt lots of unpleasant pulling and tugging. The circus roiled on around me, and eventually I had a baby. No one said, it's a girl. They showed her to me, but I was too agitated to appreciate the moment. They took her away to clean her up, they stapled me up and took me to a recovery room. And finally it was quiet.

Jon came in and I wept. I was so angry. I was angry that my doctor didn't tell me about the verticle incision until I had needles and tubes in multiple places and my hands were bound to boards. I felt mutiilated. I wanted to sit up. Jon, who had actually seen my incision, encouraged me to keep lying down. He had seen Chelsea, cleaned up, weighed in at 7.4 oz. and responding to his voice. I was eager to get her back.

And once I had her back, I refused to let them take her away again. I spent four nights, from Monday to Friday, in the hospital, and she never left my room. They wanted to take her and give her a bath. I insisted they bring in a warmer and bathe her in the room. I would not let her go to the nursery so I could sleep. I just slept when she did and held her the rest of the time.

Our sitter brought K.C. to the hospital to see her baby sister. K.C. held her on a pillow and said, I'm already the big sister. I have this all on VHS tapes, but since VCRs are almost obsolete, I should have them converted to DVD or accept that I am the only one interested in watching them and I still have two working VCRs, we're probably good.

Most of what I remember about that week was how hungry I was. I'd had only a banana on the birth date, knowing that I'd be having surgery. The hospital kept me on a liquid diet until I passed gas. I would have killed for a cheeseburger. Finally, around Thursday, when nature was still refusing to take its course, they gave me something to let it all go. After that I got to eat food again.

We went home on Friday morning, but before we left Chelsea's bilirubin levels spiked up. I had a choice of leaving her in the hospital or taking her home and having home health set us up with light therapy at home. Of course I took her home. My pediatrician wanted me to bring her in for a recheck. After lunch I told K.C. we were taking the baby back to the doctor. She burst into tears.

She said, you told me we were never taking her back.

We spent a pretty miserable weekend. I was terrified that the little felt goggles the nurse put over her eyes to protect them from the lights would slip. Jon slept in a rocking chair with her so I could get some sleep. I held her whenever I wasn't sleeping. The nurse came daily to take blood from Chelsea's little foot. By Monday her bilirubin levels had come down. The lights were packed up and sent away.

And we started on the brilliant adventure of raising two daughters, two little girls. Sisters.


"You can't bargain with the truth
Whether you're right or you're wrong
We're gonna know what you've done
We're gonna see where you belong in the end

You can't bargain with the truth
Whether you are black or you're white
We're gonna know who's right
We're gonna see you in the light in the end

Every little thing you do
You better know it's coming back to you

You can't bargain with the truth
Cause one day you're gonna die
And good's going high
And evil's going down in the end

You can't bargain with the truth
Whether you're old or young
We're gonna see what you've done
There'll be nowhere else to run in the end

You can't bargain with the truth
Whether you're rich or you're poor
You're gonna meet at the same door
You're gonna know the real score in the end

And if you want to help your fellow man
You better start with what is in your hand

You can't bargain with the truth
Whether you're right or you're wrong
We're gonna know what you've done
We're gonna see where you belong in the end

You can't bargain with the truth
'Cause if the world you chose
No further than your nose
Will be where the doors will close in the end

You can't bargain with the truth
'Cause for those who were deceived
There'll be no reprieve
There'll be no time to believe in the end

Oh every little thing you do
You better know it's coming back to you

You can't bargain with the truth
'Cause one day you're gonna die
And good's going high
And evil's going down in the end."



(Yusuf Islam)

1 comment:

Lori Anderson said...

First, that soup is gorgeous! I love Andra, have met her and her family personally.

Second, that birth story -- OMG.

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Thanks for your comment! I will post it as soon as I receive it. Liz