Since I began running in Dec. 2009, I’ve developed a list of the things I absolutely love that make my runs more enjoyable.
A few of my
favorite running items
A few of my
The long road back at the San Francisco 2nd Half
I told myself after I ran the Oakland Half Marathon in 2011 that once I finished I’d have at least one thing going for me: I would never have to run my first half marathon again.
Fast forward to July 27, 2014.
I felt as if I was running my first half marathon all over again. But without the appropriate training this time. And without the stamina and core support. Basically I was running my first half marathon as if I just woke up one morning and said: “Today is a good day to run 13.1 miles.”
In reality, I should have waited.
But at least I finished.
Ahhh, the early miles in Golden Gate Park where I was already falling apart. Can’t you see it in my face?
The morning started off well enough. We woke up on time. The baby’s bag was already ready. It took me about 45 minutes to get ready. We were out the door at a decent time for the hour-ish journey to San Francisco for my drop off point.
I tried to take a nap in the car and kind of did as my daughter fell asleep in her car seat. When I woke up, I realized my husband was taking a new route into the city. I looked at the time. I realized where we were and I had a moment of panic.
We weren’t going to make it.
It had been nine months since my last race and I realized my husband may have forgot how to be a race husband. By the time he got me to Golden Gate Park, he was on the wrong side of the end of the 1st Half Marathon. And, well, we were about eight blocks from the start.
With less than 15 minutes to my corral start, I had no choice but to run to the start, going right through the first half marathoners, and gunning it to the area where I was supposed to be about two minutes before my start time.
Needless to say, I was already slightly warmed up and ready to go by the time we started.
But then it all went downhill.
Actually, it went uphill and that was part of the problem.
Mile 1: 10:32 — This is misleading, the first part of this mile goes downhill, so it wasn’t as if I was trying too hard here. So this mile became my fastest. I had taken a Gu before we started after eating a peppermint Luna bar in the car.
Mile 2: 11:54 — This is more like it. The 2nd Half is a tougher course than most regular half marathons. I figured I’d average 12-minute miles. I could feel the incline here. I wasn’t ready for it at all. My legs were burning.
Mile 3: 13:21 — My legs were still burning. It was here that I was considering calling Thomas and telling him I was done. I’d had it. There would be no half marathon today. I did a Gu.
Mile 4: 11:49 — This area is one of the most beautiful of this half marathon. It moves around Stow Lake, which seems to go on forever.
Mile 5: 11:13 — Still going around Stow Lake here. My legs were starting to get tired here. I did a Gu.
Mile 6: —12:17 — The Gu wasn’t exactly working. In fact, nothing was working. I was exhausted. I think I should have ran a 10K instead.
Mile 7: — 14:09 — After getting out of the park, the course runs up Haight Street. It’s uphill for a good amount of time. In 2011, I struggled on this part because I suddenly felt as if I had to run to the bathroom. The problem was there is a huge drought of bathrooms along here. The SAME thing happened to me this year. So I was tired and had a stomachache.
Mile 8: 12:19 — Trying to pick it up. This would be my last mile at a decent pace.
Mile 9: 12:56 — My legs hurt. It was getting hot.
Mile 10: 12:44 — I had this “I hit 10! I can finish this thing!” moment just to realize that I had a 5K to go.
Mile 11: 13: 14 — I’m slogging at this point. My C-section incision started to ache a little. Then I knew I was in trouble.
Mile 12: —14:35 — Walking/running. Exhausted. Warm. Spent. My whole body hurts.
Mile 13: 13:49 — I texted my husband, which I never do. I basically told him I was slow. But I was finishing. I was tired. I needed water. And a nap. And a hug from my baby.
Mile .22: 11:10 — The deception of this race is that you can’t actually see the finish, because it’s around a corner a little bit, until right at the end. It’s kind of a cruel finality of the race.
Garmin time: 2:47:20
Chip time: 2:47:14
That nice image to the right is one of the free ones that the San Francisco Marathon offered this year. All I had to do was “like” a page on Facebook to download them. I love that. I’m only used to that at much smaller races.
I collected my medal, walked through the finish line shoot in mostly a daze, then started looking for my husband. He was near the finish line with baby girl and a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers, my favorite.
I think it’s fair to say I THOUGHT I was ready for this race. I truly wasn’t. My total mileage for July was 75. I’m already nearly halfway there for August.
I didn’t have the base going in. I felt strong because I’d had some eight and 10 mile runs over the course of four weeks, but not enough constant mileage to feel good running a half marathon.
But I’m glad I went out there and did it, even if the last half of it was a painful memory of blur to me.
To remedy the experience, though, I’m upping my mileage. In the past seven days, I’ve done a nine-mile run, a five-mile run and a six-mile run. The later two runs were at a faster pace on the treadmill. My goal is to do more mid-length runs, as much as I can, in the coming weeks before the Ventura Half Marathon, which I’m running with one of my best friends.
I don’t have a time goal in that specific race because it’s my friend’s first half marathon. I’ll be running with her, though I have a feeling she’ll be pacing me at some point.
I kept telling myself that I could do this if I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. But in reality, the 2nd Half Marathon in San Francisco showed me that I have a long way to go to really be “back” to half marathoning.
Catching up (+ the San Francisco Marathon expo)
So … my blog had a major issue this past weekend. I spent Friday-Monday trying to get it restored. It took a call, several support tickets and a bunch of anguish on my part to bring it back. I lost one of my personally managed sites in the process. It was all sorts of sadness for me, especially because I truly thought I’d lost my daughter’s birth story (even though I had backed up the database).
In the time my site was down, I made my not-so-triumphant return to half marathoning.
On Saturday, I ran the 2nd Half Marathon of the San Francisco Marathon. On a course where I ran a 2:32 something in 2011, I barely pulled it together to run a 2:47:14.
It’s not my worst half, but it wasn’t my best.
I only had two goals, though:
- Don’t pass out or die on the side of the road somewhere and have to call my husband, who would then have to drag the baby from wherever he was, to come get me.
- Finish
Goals accomplished.
I’ll actually do a race report. This post is about the expo, which was moved from the Design District in San Francisco, which I wasn’t really a fan of, to Fort Mason, which is right down the road from Pier 39, the Aquatic Park and Ghirardelli Square.
Being that I had run the path numerous times, and after checking my route, I decided to run from BART.
But first for some background: My husband has every other Friday from work off. July 25 was his Friday off. So I figured he could watch baby girl while I made a “quick trip” to San Francisco. I live 59 miles from San Francisco, which isn’t a huge distance. But there is no such thing as a “quick trip” to the city. Because parking sucks. And I have to take the train to get in and get out. So it basically takes the entire day to get in and out.
So I pre-bought a parking permit, got to the train station at 10 a.m., got on the train, got to San Francisco, got off the train, and enjoyed a beautiful run along the Embarcadero.
That’s my route in comparison to the city. Since San Francisco is a seven-mile by seven-mile grid, a three mile run gets you pretty far.
Except I thought it was a two mile run. And I didn’t anticipate it would be so sunny in the city. So I ended up at Fort Mason with a horrible sunburn, waiting for the expo to open at noon for about 20 minutes.
The expo was kind of tucked away, down a hill. I ran along the back of Fort Mason, so I didn’t take a long staircase down to the building. I was probably the 100th person inside the expo. The hall seemed bigger and longer than the previous location. But the bibs and shirts were located all the way at the back of the hall.
I know this was strategic. In previous years, runners had to get those things first THEN go to the expo. I didn’t spend a lot of time in this particular expo the past couple years, so I get it. But I didn’t spend a lot of time at this one either.
I was there for probably 30 minutes.
Enough time to grab my number, my bag (which were actually clear plastic this year instead of the more durable, reusable ones we’ve had in previous years), my shirt and get out. I didn’t even sample anything.
I kind of had to get home to my baby.
That was the scene less than 20 minutes into the expo. There was a line of probably 1,000 people outside. The signage wasn’t too specific, even with numerous signs. The volunteers let me pick up a marathon shirt instead of a half marathon shirt. Then the half marathon shirt volunteers gave me the wrong size.
But, on a good note, the shirts were much, much better than last year’s horrible ones (which sucks because I ran the full last year).
That’s the front, which doesn’t include the ridiculous sponsor it’s had in the past two years. As much as I like races to have sponsors, that huge sponsor symbol was annoying.
The back was equally as nice.
I’ve never been so glad in my life that I ordered a large size shirt. I normally get mediums because I like the shirts to fit me a little more snugly when I run. Right now I’m still dealing with “belly overhang” which is hid, somewhat nicely, under my running capris, but I’m a but wider than before, so a large fits me just a little bit bigger than I’m normally used to.
The arms are a bit long, though. I’d rather have them long than the short ones from last year.
I was sweaty from running through the city, so I wasn’t feeling like browsing much. And I really just wanted to get home and get on the train to beat rush-hour traffic.
I did check out the Reva sportswear area.
Because of my aforementioned problem with some of my running shirts, I also opted to buy another long-sleeved shirt. It’s blazing hot outside right now, with humidity high, but I’m also trying to plan my winter running as that’s when I’m going to be cranking up my mileage.
I found this half marathon specific one that I loved.
So I bought it. Even though I probably didn’t really need it. I figure I can wear it to run the Big Sur Half Marathon, which I FINALLY registered for, this November.
It fits well. I wore it for part of the run on Sunday.
And that was it. I was ready to leave the expo. I had planned on running back to the train, but after I ran three miles there and knew I had a sunburn, and failed to bring sunscreen in my running backpack, I opted to hop on the bus back to the host hotel where the marathon was shuttling runners.
On the ride, I met the 1:45 half marathon pacer, a guy named Don. We talked about running, shoes and races. I love that runners are always so sociable with each other. It made me feel good about “coming back.”
What I missed most about running
“Don’t you miss out on a lot by running so much?” a coworker, bewildered about my 10-mile long runs on the weekend, one asked.
Training takes time. A fitness routine takes time.
And it’s often not until you walk away for awhile that you understand how much time it takes and how much you are potentially missing.
When I leave my daughter home with my husband and head out the door for a run, I miss my little girl.
But I also thinking about what I’m gaining. And, after three months of no running, what I missed most wasn’t the actual running, but the ambiance, the friendship and the feeling of victory when I finished.
The sunsets too. I missed the summer sunsets, even on a bridge to nowhere surrounded by dead grass.
Breaking up with StrideBox
This is a classic case of “it’s not you, it’s me.”
I’ve had a StrideBox monthly subscription since last August. That’s when I received my first, exciting both. Since then, I got charged $15 for the box of goodies to come to my mailbox at the beginning of every month. My loot from my July box, which I received late last week, is above.
Last week, I went into the payment module and cancelled my August box and all future boxes.
StrideBox, you’re great, but it’s time we break up.
It’s not that I want to try other services or don’t believe in the value of what was sent. It’s that I picked the wrong 12-month period to be a subscriber. I don’t think I need to explain, but I will.
I received my first StrideBox the same month we found out we were expecting Cecilia.
My running went down tremendously my first trimester of pregnany. I only had “morning sickness” that involved throwing up twice. I felt horrible, generally all day, the rest of the fist 14 weeks or so. I ran so little that not even my stash of favorite Vanilla Bean Gu got used.
So I wasn’t up to trying out new products.
I can’t recall what exactly was in that first StrideBox, but I know I actually tried to use most of the contents. I ate the energy-type bars, which I normally do, but I gave away most of the other stuff, especially stuff which caffeine, which I was avoiding.
The problem is, I kept doing that as the months went on. When my friends stopped taking all the stuff, I ended up with a surplus of StrideBox goodies. A good problem to have? Not necessarily.
I feel bad that for $15 a month, I basically started a collection of running “stuff” that I wasn’t using because I wasn’t running much of anywhere.
When my energy can back during the second trimester and I started running again, though not far, I was still very conscious about what was going in my body. StrideBox never sent me anything I thought would harm the baby. That’s not it at all. I just didn’t want to experiment as I would have likely done if I wasn’t pregnant.
So I tried some things here and there, but generally things started ending up in a nifty shoe bag StrideBox included in one of my orders.
I considered cancelling the subscription in January when I realized, with all the pregnancy complications, that my running time would likely be more limited in the following months.
Then I, essentially, forgot about it.
Every month when I got a box, I’d stack it on top of the previous month’s box.
I had the February, March and April boxes all stacked together when the May box came after baby girl was born. When she was napping in one of those first two weeks after my C-section, I opened them all. I then asked friends if they wanted specific things. I put some away to give to people I knew would benefit from them.
Basically I ended up only using and appreciating 10 percent of the stuff I’d received in the past year.
The rest is still waiting for me.
That’s only a fraction of what I need to get through.
StrideBox sends a mix of really useful and not so useful stuff, depending on the month. (That’s a personal critique. What is useful to me may not be useful to another person and vice versa.) I have arm protectors for the sun from June. I had a running belt from a previous month that I just gave to one of my running buddies.
So when I received my July box and I saw that I received a nifty little water bottle and a bunch of hydration items, which I knew as very similar to last July’s StrideBox, I knew my run had ended.
It was time to cancel, mainly because I had so much stuff that hadn’t been used in he past year.
The $15 a month wasn’t the issue at all, though that does by me two 50 packs of the diaper’s Cecilia is currently wearing. Parent priorities I guess.
I was always impressed with the content of the boxes, but with pregnancy and my slow-going comeback, my happy days of receiving a StrideBox in the mail every month are now over.
It really is me StrideBox. I love this month’s box. I love the cool items that I have got to try. I love that I discovered some new things though you. I’m just not into you as much as I thought I’d be.
Let’s not make it awkward around mutual friends, OK?
When a good run changes everything
Pregnancy does a number on a woman’s body. I say that, now 11 weeks postpartum, only minutes after trying to find professional clothes to wear to a formal event. It, obviously, changes the abdomen. Even though everyone swore I was “all tummy,” my legs and arms feel deflated.
The day before I was induced, I weighed 205 pounds. I’ve never weighed that much in my life. I hit 200 right before I started running and vowed to never do that again. Pregnancy was a different circumstance, though, so I allowed myself to gain without looking at the scale as long as I felt good.
My problem was that the high-blood pressure that led to Cecilia arriving three weeks early caused me to massively retain water. Within two days of her arrival, I was down nearly 30 pounds. As much as I’m ashamed to admit I gained 10 pounds back AFTER she was born, I also know I’ve been working to rebuild my muscle bulk that I lost when I stopped running at 30 weeks.
But my body is no doubt different.
And I’m incredibly insecure about it.
That’s what I took into the See Jane Run 5K on June 22. I came out of it, though, with a renewed confidence.
I had two goals for this race:
- Finish strong
- Preferably finish under 45 minutes
I’m happy to report I did both. My 5K time wasn’t my slowest to date by any means. I ran a comfortable 32:49. I didn’t push myself too hard. I didn’t give up. I just ran. When I got to the end of the first mile and felt good, I reset my thinking and wanted to finish each mile with a 10 in front of it.
I did that.
Mile 1: 10:33 — I paced myself behind two women who I overheard say they were “taking it easy.”
Mile 2: 10:56 — This included a water stop and walk break because I still can’t drink and run at the same time.
Mile 3: 10:36 — My legs were burning a little, but I also feel like I was coming alive.
Mile .11: 1.26 — Also, I forgot to turn off my Garmin right at the finish. Amateur mistake, but one that was easy to make since I haven’t raced since October.
I ran the 5K so fast that my husband hadn’t even unloaded our daughter from the car and brought her to the finish line yet. So I ended up wandering around for a bit.
That led me to the “I run for a reason …” chalkboard put up by race organizers. I used to run to be a better me, which is obviously still a laudable goal.
I have a new reason.
For the first time, I crossed the finish line as a mother. I longed to grab my baby girl up and give her a big hug, which I did after she woke up from a very much needed nap.
My husband took the photo above and another of me looking forward. I love the one above so much more than that one. I was having a conversation with her at a picnic table behind the race area while another new mom breastfed next to me.
I add all this into the typical race recap because as I sat there pondering how my See Jane Run ambassador shirt didn’t fit as well, how my legs look a little more deflated than usual and how my stomach was more prominent than before, I realized that none of that really mattered.
Nearly 10 weeks prior to this race, I had major surgery to give birth to my first child and, despite my complications, she came out perfectly healthy, with 10 fingers and 10 toes.
Some women say there body isn’t wrecked, their stretch marks are tiger stripes, etc. I’m saying it’s OK that my body isn’t what it once was. Especially right now.
So my tummy is a little more flabby than usual. I’m thicker across the middle. My arms are fatter too. My Lululemon tanks are more stretched out across my chest. Whatever.
I had spent three weeks trying incrementally to get to three miles on my training runs for this 5K. I finally succeeded the Thursday before I ran 3.1. My confidence was shot. I kept feeling as if I’d never run distances again.
Since this run, I’ve run multiple four milers. Two nights ago I made it to 5.14 before I turned off my Garmin and walked it in because the wind was so bad where I was running.
The See Jane Run 5K was a good run for me. It’s propelled me to other good runs.
Why? Because my body remembered. Despite the excess baggage and the mental uncertainty, my body remembered what it was like to run and what it felt like to knock out three miles.
I’m not saying it was easy.
But I got to the finish.
One of the reasons I’m proud to be a See Jane Run Ambassador is because of the company’s motto:
“If you can run a mile, you can run a marathon.”
The nine weeks before this race and post baby, I was having serious doubts about whether or not I would be able to run distance again. I know that’s hyperbole, but I honestly felt as if everything in my life had change. It has, truthfully. But I was amazed at the end of this race when I realized something awesome: My body remembered. By mile three, I felt as if I was only warming up.
For weeks I had run two miler after two miler and just felt horrible. I needed See Jane Run to be a good run. And it was.
I now feel as if I can run a marathon again. Just not this year. I’ve given up my hopes of running and PRing California International Marathon for 2014. Instead, I’m shifting focus toward one of my favorite half marathons in November and then gearing up to go long next spring by signing up for the San Luis Obispo Marathon and then bricking my training to also run the San Francisco Marathon.
Lofty goals.
Three weeks ago, I didn’t have those lofty goals. I’m excited about how I feel now about running.
Something else happened to: I’m learning to be kind to myself about my body. I don’t fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes all that well right now. I might not still by the time I start teaching again in the fall either. That’s OK. My husband reassures me that I’m as sexy to him as I’ve ever been. I have clothes that fit, even if I did wear my maternity dress pants to an event at school this week.
I’m learning to accept my body for what it is now. I gave birth 11 weeks ago. It’s OK to not be where I was a year ago, before I got pregnant. I’m accepting myself a lot better right now.
All because of See Jane Run.
And a certain little person who, despite being completely over me by the time we left the race — too many snuggles and kisses from mommy — had a good time cheering me on with daddy. OK. Maybe I don’t know she had a good time. But I like to think so.
She seemed pretty happy in her stroller on the way back to the car.
Also, check out the amazing ambassador jacket that I received from See Jane Run! I’m going to wear it to every running event I go to this year, no doubt. I want to wear it all the time now, but it’s much too hot.
See Jane Run puts on a Seattle race on July 13 and athletes in the Pacific Northwest can still sign up, for 10 percent off, using my coupon code: SJAMB243. There is also a Wichita, Kansas race on Sept. 13.
An amazing day
At 8:29 a.m. I hadn’t stepped up to a race start in seven months. At 8:32 a.m. I was starting off on my first 5K in more than two years.
I was anticipating a disaster, truth be told. All my training had been condensed into a month period as I fit in runs when baby girl was either sleeping or my husband had just come home from work. I didn’t know how to feel.
I went through my nerves with a random woman at the start. I just needed to talk to someone. She assured me that however I did, it would be fine.
“You’re out here, so you’re already ahead of most new moms,” she said.
THAT is why See Jane Run is such an awesome race. And THAT is why I am glad it was my first race “back.”
I didn’t PR or anything, but I finished strong and only walked through water stops (because I still haven’t mastered running and drinking water at the same time). Whenever the voice in my head told me to stop, I kept going.
I finished in 32:49, which is far better than I could have anticipated.
The best part was that my husband, who cheers me on at the finishes of all my races, was there with Cecilia. She slept through most of the commotion, but woke up enough to look around. She loves looking around right now.
I am overwhelmed with a runner’s high I haven’t had in months. A full race recap will come, but right now I’m just excited to have said I was out and running again.
Counting down to my return to racing
My return to running hasn’t been easy, and not even for the obvious reasons.
First off, I’m going to count myself in the minority of new parents who get MORE sleep after welcoming a baby. I’ve been an insomniac since my first year of grad school. I rarely, if ever, sleep through the night. Instead I usually wake up four or five times, barely get back to sleep and then wake up again.
Right now? I put Cecilia down at 11:30 p.m. and sleep until she stirs at 5 a.m. I actually panic if she doesn’t wake me up (do mothers ever stop worrying about SIDS? Does everyone tap their child to see if he or she is still breathing?), so I wake up ready to grab her up and see what’s wrong with her.
But I sleep fairly soundly.
Instead I’m trying to work runs into my two-month old’s schedule. It means that I end up waiting for my husband to commute home before I can hop on the treadmill, if I’m lucky. It also means I’m missing runs when he gets off late because baby girl needs to maintain somewhat of a schedule.
As I type this I am trying to soothe her in her bouncy chair while I wait for my husband to get home so I can run. I never anticipated THIS before my problem. I always figured it would be something like being overtired, having no ambition, etc.
The time struggle is real.
So I’ve been fitting in two mile runs as often as I can. On Monday night I ran my best two miler since I was 30 weeks.
It brought some of my confidence back going into this weekend’s See Jane Run 5K in Alameda. I’ve run the half marathon portion of the race twice. This will be my first time running the 5K and my second year as an ambassador for the running store/race company.
Two good miles doesn’t necessarily translate into a solid 5K. But I’m hopeful I’ll feel OK. I’m hopeful that I’ll run strong, but likely not fast.
And I know I’ll be encouraged by a group of other women who have similar goals.
I’m still anxious. Even though I’ve done this race twice I’m nervous. I feel like it’s my first 5K all over again.
I haven’t raced since last fall. I, essentially, took two full seasons off of running and racing while pregnant. I don’t know how my body will react or what to expect from my legs. There’s a lot of uncertainty. (See how I’m psyching myself out already?)
I do know that the party at the end will, as always, be rocking. My Bay Area readers can still join in the festivities (including chocolate and champagne at the end!) and get 10 percent of registration by using my ambassador code: SJRAMB243
I also know that my little running ambassador is coming to cheer me on with my husband. I know she’s not old enough to understand what’s happening quite yet, but I hope this will be the first of many races she’ll be at the finish line for. I want her to see her mommy staying active. I want fitness to be a part of her life.
So while I’m nervous about getting to the start of my new role as a mother runner, I’m anxious to where the race will take baby girl and I.
‘She was always the plan’ : Part II
I left the doctor’s office with instructions to basically sit on my butt for the weekend and monitor my blood pressure. I went home to the couch and called work to let my division office know I wouldn’t be returning. I emailed over the appropriate documents, including a new form for my maternity leave to start.
My original “off” date was April 18. I had intended to work until April 25 when I found out I was pregnant. I look back now and realize how laughable that was.
I spent the next few days moving between feeling excited that within the week my daughter would be in my arms and anxious that she was doing OK in my womb with all that was going on with my own health.
I thought I was living the longest three days of my life.
On Saturday, my husband and I went out to dinner. We called it our “last supper” without a child. We spent the night at home, watching television and relaxing. Come Sunday, I woke up and finally packed my hospital bags. I tried, as much as I could, to tidy up our house so I wouldn’t be coming home to dishes needing cleaning, laundry not done, etc.
At noon, I made “the call.”
My OB had instructed me to call and see if a room was available. I’m lucky my time was scheduled for 2 p.m. and was only pushed back to 3 p.m. By 2 p.m. we were on the road, since I had to stop at the bank prior to going to the hospital.
By 3 p.m. we were checking in with the Boppy pillow, numerous bags and Goldfish crackers in tow. Neither of us said it, but my husband and I wee both very nervous.
INDUCTION BEGINS
The nurses didn’t even ask who I was when I walked in because I was the only induction scheduled for that day. By 4:30 p.m. I was going through the motions of signing paperwork, getting IVs started, changing into a gown and becoming a “patient.”
At 5:30 p.m. the on-call OB came in and inserted a suppository to “soften my cervix.” Everything started slowing down after that. I had to wait as the medicine did its job.
I had blood pressure checks every 15 minutes.
Because of my swelling, every time the cuff closed, I was in excruciating pain.
That wasn’t a contraction. It was the blood pressure cuff tightening so hard around my arm it hurt like hell. It felt like I was being crushed from the inside out.
A friend stopped by and chatted. My husband and I called my mom and told her not to come that night, nothing was happening. The doctor said the Pitocin wouldn’t start until Monday morning.
By 10 p.m. I was dosing off. At 11:30 I woke up and did feel quite right.
I got up, grabbed my IV pole and took a waddle walk through labor and delivery. I figured I just needed to get out of bed for a bit. My husband was sleeping on the couch next to me. I didn’t wake him.
When I returned to my bed after a 15 minute excursion, the nurse came in to check my vitals. My blood pressure was skyrocketing.
I don’t know the exact number, mainly because my memories from the whole induction/labor period are fuzzy at best. Why? Immediately after that blood pressure reading happened, I was put on a magnesium drip. The magnesium was supposed to prevent seizures that could have happened because of my high blood pressure.
The magnesium, though, also make me loopy and eventually everything felt like an out-of-body experience.
On Sunday night, my blood pressure was so high I wasn’t allowed to leave bed at all. The nurse brought in a bedpan. The indignity of it all had begun. I barely slept. I didn’t eat because everyone was expecting labor to begin “soon.”
LABOR PROGRESSES
“Soon” is relative. Soon for one person can mean 10 minutes. For another it can mean tomorrow.
In my case, labor didn’t really “begin” until sometime late Monday night/early Tuesday morning.
The Pitocin drip was started on Monday morning. For awhile, nothing happened. Or at least it felt like nothing was happening. I felt some minor discomfort. The nurse began turning up the Pitocin every hour. Monday seemed to drag on as the nurse would come in, up the ante, leave and then come back and check the response.
I watched a lot of television before my mom arrived sometime before noon. By the evening hours, the Pitocin was being turned up every 30 minutes because it seemed like nothing was happening.
I should have known then that my body wasn’t having this process. I didn’t feel she was ready to come out yet. Apparently my body agreed.
It wasn’t until Monday night that I started feeling anything significant. And then it all got so weird and distant.
My nurse, who was amazing, kept asking me if I wanted the epidural yet. Let me make it clear: I wanted an epidural. I wasn’t going to try to be super woman by delivering my daughter, who my OB estimated would be nearly nine pounds if she wad born to term, without pain intervention. My pain threshold is non-existent.
Apparently I was having contractions, but wasn’t in that much pain so I kept saying no. I was told, though, that my body would relax and help baby girl get out if I had the epidural. At 3:30 a.m. I finally did. I held on to my husband as the doctor inserted the needle. I want to say it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, but I honestly don’t remember much about it.
Once that happened, I was again confined to the bed. And my nurse was right, that’s when things really picked up. I started getting turned on my side every half hour or so, from one side to the other, to help baby girl move down the birth canal. At 10 a.m. the on-call OB came in to check me. I can’t remember how dilated I was, but it wasn’t enough.
The Pitocin got turned up again. By noon, I started pushing.
Most hospitals allow women to “labor down” in order to prevent unnecessary pushing, but the ward was full that day. It was a Blood Moon, and that meant everyone was going into labor. The OB instructed my nurse to get me ready to push.
My husband was taking a shower when everything started. He walked out to me on my second push.
I would push, every way you can imagine, holding onto a bar, on my side, with one leg in the air, etc. My nurse tried 20 different positions to get baby girl to come down. More importantly, baby girl needed to turn face up.
NOTHING GOES AS PLANNED
By noon, I was dilated to 10 centimeters and ready to push.
I spent an hour pushing and feeling like I was getting nowhere. I was exhausted then. I hadn’t slept in more than 24 hours outside of a few minutes at a time.
There wasn’t enough running or yoga in the world that prepares a woman for nearly four hours of pushing. I had a break in between (where my usually reserved husband apparently went down and hit a vending machine when it took his money because he was anxious/annoyed/frustrated for me).
I can’t remember much of the second time we started pushing. I know, only because I was told, that I had extra injections of pain medicine inserted into my epidural. I know I was pushing for at least another hour. I know the on-call OB tried the suction twice (my daughter had the mark to prove it). I know an episiotomy was considered, but rejected because where most women have a small amount of muscle that needs to be cut, I apparently had four-times the normal.
The doctor advised my husband and mother that even with an episiotomy, she wasn’t sure the baby would come naturally. I don’t recall who mentioned a C-section.
I only remember looking up at my husband, who was tearing up at that point, and saying: “I’m sorry.”
I know now that he made the decision to go that route. I was exhausted. I felt like I was losing consciousness. Everything around me was lights and noises, but really just a blur.
I was wheeled in the operating room. I was prepped. Thomas was in an adjacent room getting suited up. But apparently, there was a miscommunication. Someone had said I had a spinal block. I only had an epidural.
So when they started to cut, I felt it. I was immediately put under for the rest of the C-section.
MISSED MOMENTS
When I was put under, it robbed me of the chance to hear her first cries and see her immediately after she was born. It also took away my husband’s chance to see her being born completely.
I’ve mentioned before how fortunate I am to be married to my husband. He reaffirmed it the day Cecilia was born.
A nurse made a comment about how I couldn’t do Kangaroo care for my daughter, because I was in horrible pain, begging for relief. Thomas didn’t think twice and started stripping his top half down to hold her close to him. He held her in his arms so tight in the recovery room. He brought her to me so I could kiss her and talk to her.
I’ve heard that a woman becomes a mother the moment she finds out she’s expecting, but for some men it’s the moment they see their child. My husband guards his emotions, but he cried when he saw Cecilia. He fell head over heels for her the moment he saw her.
The night she was born I was stuck in bed with a catheter, still on magnesium and slightly loopy. Thomas changed every diaper. He responded to every cry.
She loves her daddy so much. Even now, at six weeks old, she responds to his voice when he comes home from work. He moves her entire body toward him.
I struggle with how her birth happened. I’ll never get to see how my husband reacted when he saw our first born. Those moments cannot be replaced. Everyone said I should be thankful the baby is healthy, but more than that mattered to me. (Consequently, my freelance boss sent me this article today and it is dead on).
I’m thankful none of the worst-case scenario events happened. I didn’t have a seizure. I didn’t die in childbirth. Cecilia was born healthy, strong and beautiful.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. My body failed me in many ways.
I felt so much confusion those first 48 hours after she was born. I blamed myself (more so when she wouldn’t latch for breastfeeding and still won’t to this day, I’m pumping and supplementing because she’s a very hungry girl). I was upset. I allowed myself to be upset.
“This wasn’t what I planned,” I told my husband as I sat helplessly watching him change her for the third time that night.
He looked over at me with sympathy in his eyes. He knew I was hurting, physically and emotionally. He reassured me and told me that sometimes things happen that way.
Then he said the most comforting words I heard nearly the entire week I was in the hospital.
“You followed the plan,” he said. “She was always the plan.”
I’m pretty sure I fell in love with him all over again at that moment. Because he was right.
It doesn’t matter how she came into this world. She’s here. She’s amazing. And she was always the plan.
‘She was always the plan’ : Part I
There’s a confusing stupor that comes with being awoken after general anesthesia. In the same moment, you are there, waking up, but still very much “out.”
More than two days after I was induced to deliver my daughter, I was coming out of that haze very slowly without recollection of what had happened to me in the moments, hours and days before.
“She’s here,” my husband assured me. “And she’s fine.”
Then I heard her. It wasn’t a cry. It was more of a coo. She was happy. She was in her daddy’s arms. I opened my eyes to see my husband holding her close to him, his eyes watery.
I was overwhelmed with pain. I was awakened without pain meds flowing through me. I asked for what seemed like 30 minutes, to please have something because it hurt so bad. The rest is a blur.
I couldn’t sit up to hold her initially.
An oxygen mask was secured to my face.
The nurse fought me to keep it on. I finally ripped if off as my husband held my little girl — the baby who in reality shouldn’t have been born for three more weeks, who wasn’t quite ready to come out on her own — next to me.
All 19 3/4 inches and 8 pounds of her. Cecilia Carine. Our first child. Our daughter. Her first name chosen by her father. Her middle name an altered spelling of my grandmother’s name (and the way her Swedish brother produced it), who I always intended to name my first daughter after. Born at 37 weeks after a medical induction because of mild preeclampsia.
If I said it wasn’t what I had anticipated, it would be an understatement.
I had envisioned Kangaroo time with me. I had dreams about her being handed to me after being born, my husband cutting her umbilical cord, delayed cord clamping and a bunch of other things. I didn’t realize I had a “birth plan” until my birth plan was thrown out the window.
As much as I was overwhelmed by the love I felt for this very small person, I spent the first days with her torn apart emotionally about how I should feel about her debut in this world.
The pain runs deeper because Cecilia, even at five weeks, won’t breast feed. Another one of my plans ruined. Instead I’ve been pumping constantly to give her the benefits without having her recoil when I introduce a breast to her (yes, she does that).
I’ve had days where I feel like my body, the body that has pushed me through five marathons and even more half marathons, failed me at the eleventh hour. The pain fades with every milestone. And each day I become more and more smitten with my baby girl.
A NOT-SO-SUDDEN PROGRESSION
For all intents and purposes, I had a very healthy pregnancy. I had no morning sickness the first trimester. Instead I had severe nausea which meant that the first 10 weeks I lost 15 pounds.
My clothes fit really, really well that first trimester. I ate incredibly healthy too, particularly because I was worried about fitting into my bridesmaid dress at 19 weeks pregnant for my friend’s December wedding. By January, I had gained only 20 pounds, putting me only five pounds over my initial pre-pregnancy weight.
As I started teaching again, I noticed that with each passing class period my shoes were fitting more and more tightly. Then my wedding ring and college class ring started to get tight.
My arms and legs started to swell. My running had taken a pretty significant hit in the first trimester with all the nausea and fatigue. When my second trimester “feel good” period came, I hit the treadmill every couple days until my legs started looking more and more like balloons.
It was not a good look for me.
By week 27, I had stopped running mainly because baby girl decided to jump on my bladder whenever I got going.
As each week turned over (on Sundays) I noticed my hands, feet and legs were getting worse and worse. I called my insurance’s advice line numerous times. At 27 weeks I was admitted for observation because I started to see “floaters” and had a head ache that didn’t go away with over-the-counter medication.
At 32 weeks my doctor said we’d start doing “nonstress” tests every week for baby girl because of my history of diabetes, even though I didn’t have gestational diabetes. That weekend, I was back being monitored overnight at the hospital. My husband had to take a Monday off because we were there overnight for testing for a potential pre-eclampsia diagnosis. I did a 24-hour urinalysis. It came back elevated, but fine.
At 36 weeks I had a non-stress test and my blood pressure was so high my OB ordered me to go to the hospital immediately.
My mom came to get me and we ventured to the hospital, about 30 minutes (in traffic) away from where I live. I spent more than four hours being monitored. My blood pressure was somewhere around 165/90 or something like that. I can’t really remember. When it stabilized I was allowed to go home, with more tests to be completed.
I did another 24-hour urinalysis.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, I went to work. My students were finishing a 12-page issue of the newspaper. I didn’t want to miss it. I felt pretty miserable. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been there. I look back on it now and can’t believe I worked through the week. I left school immediately Thursday after pages were sent to the publisher and went to my doctor for another nonstress test and a follow-up appointment from the hospital visit.
What I already knew: My test results showed that the protein in my urine had doubled in a two week period. That meant nothing good. I tried to mentally prepare for the worst, even though I didn’t know what “the worst” was. I knew one thing, baby girl was likely coming sooner than my husband and I expected.
THE DECISION
When I laid down on the bed for the non-stress test, the OB nurse did an ultrasound immediately. I thought that was a little weird. I asked her what it was for.
“I’m checking the baby’s size and position,” she said.
Baby girl was head down (she had been since 25 weeks). The non-stress test showed no problems for baby. I, on the other hand, was feeling really, really bad. I felt like my skin was crawling.
My appointment with my OB was scheduled for about 30 minutes after my test time. But the nurse led me into an examination room.
And I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
For about 40 minutes after my appointment time, which is really uncharacteristic for my OB’s office. When my OB finally came in, she asked me whether my husband was with me. That’s when I knew this likely wouldn’t be good.
“We’re going to induce you at 37 weeks,” she said, matter of factually.
I thought about it for a minute, then it really hit me.
“That’s Sunday,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
I left the office with paperwork, a number to call come Sunday and a lot of anxiety about what was going to happen. I also was ordered to be done with work as of that day, which meant no newspaper delivery with my students the next day. I had to stay off my feet the whole weekend, until Sunday.
We hadn’t even packed our bags yet …