The hospital tour

I'll admit that the first little bit of Tuesday's hospital tour left me a tiny bit offended. The table we all sat around had a newspaper at every other seat. The women were all offered a packet chock full of wordy information, as well as a pre-registration form, and the men were offered the sports section. While I was responsible for entering all our insurance information into the form, Matt's task was to report on how Tiger Woods won his most recent victory. Hmm. I hoped this wouldn't set the tone for our entire hospital stay (will they plop Matt down in front of ESPN as I writhe in pain alone in the corner trying to produce a child?) and kept my mouth shut.

I'd been told by someone who had taken the tour before (you know who you are!) we would be provided with delicious chocolate-chip cookies to eat. Nope. Not even a cup of water. I had to make it through the 45-minute tour with no sustenance whatsoever. I plan to make that up to myself in my first meal after delivery.

Yes, food really is all I think about.

Our stay will begin in a bright, large and airy, relatively attractive labor room. Amenities include access to a state-of-the-art VCR, a vinyl couch and a vinyl rocking chair. Ice chips and chicken broth will be allowed (I didn't ask if we could put the ice chips in the chicken broth), but almost all other food will have to be smuggled in. Apparently laboring mothers aren't even afforded the comfort a chocolate bar can bring in their hour of need (unless their husbands are cooperative). No wonder women giving birth are often cranky.

After Baby Girl arrives, she will be wheeled away (over my dead body) for testing and such, and I will be wheeled into a storage closet. Oh wait, what? That's our room?

When we were told we'd have accommodations for two (plus the baby), we hadn't taken into account the fact that the room would've seemed a nice one in the former Soviet Union, but not in modern-day America. I wasn't sure which bed looked least comfortable--the hospital bed I'll be sleeping on or the fold-out recliner Matt will use to catch his shut-eye. The recliner looked to be vinyl, again, but the bed's mattress was only about 4 inches thick and looked well-used. Each was about 12 inches wide. Lack of an IV pole made the recliner my top pick, but I imagine I won't be asked my opinion. We may have to change our reservation so we're staying only 1 night instead of 2, although the room service will be nice. We didn't even bother to ask about an indoor pool.

We learned along the way that if you have a c-section, they take your baby away almost immediately for a good 4 hours or so for testing, monitoring and all the little treatments they have to do. If that happens, please hit me over the head with something blunt so I'm not awake for it.

Considering Baby Girl is going to be adorable, well-behaved and in the lower range of poopiness, we were glad to see that security is very tight. Sorry to disappoint, but you won't be able to sneak away with her. Visit us after about 2 weeks, however, and we will probably be ready to give the screaming child to whomever shows up on our doorstep first, assuming you still want her.

The strangest thing was that was were only able to see 1 baby, and that only for a second and because family members were looking at it through a window. It's bad marketing, if you ask me.

And that was pretty much the tour. I've concluded that while parts of this might be fun, it won't be much of a vacation.

Childbirth class part 4

Today was our last class. There was cake, I didn't have to hold ice and we learned some things. We liked it.

The class began with us splitting into two groups: the girls and the guys. In a competition they tried not to make a competition by allowing any girl who wanted to go over and "help" the guys, we mapped out the steps and symptoms of childbirth. There's no question it was a competition. In this exercise and one later, the girls were all too curious to find out what the guys would figure out for themselves to "help." Encouragingly, the guys did alright! Maybe they'll make it through this childbirth stuff after all!

Surprise visit: a girl from our class who delivered 2 weeks ago (5 weeks pre-term) stopped by with her brand-new baby! We all ooohed and aaahed and were glad we didn't have to pick up the tiny little girl, because none of us has handled anything that small in our lives. But let's take another look at this situation: the baby was born at 35 weeks, and was 5 pounds, 3 ounces. I'll be 35 weeks on Friday. All of a sudden, the baby rivals a whale in size. If Baby Girl is even close to as massive as this preemie, it's no wonder my abdomen hurt all day two days ago. Poor thing doesn't have any room!

I had it re-confirmed that I'm a very squeamish person during the video on c-sections. Last week, I had to look away during the insertion of the epidural. Isn't the point of placing the epidural in your back so you don't have to watch? This week, I had to look away during the cartoon of the c-section. I'm really not so sure this whole birth thing is going to work out. Stork, please.

As I mentioned earlier, there was cake! The instructor was kind enough to bring us a "congratulations" cake. A delicious "congratulations" cake. A mouth-watering, utopian "congratulations" cake. Made of sugar and butter, and not broccoli. With some dismay, I noticed that Matt and I got the smallest pieces of anyone in the class. But I didn't marry a man who doesn't particularly like cake for no reason--Matt sent his over to me (I took it home--Baby Girl had had enough sugar already). When we were all properly sugared up, they handed out end-of-class evaluations.

The class confused us all by ending with a series of "positive" images played to music on a DVD. There were several things wrong here. First, the images were all of women in labor. Last I checked, the class fully confirmed that labor is painful and hard work. Four classes of lamaze-inspired instruction have not yet instilled in me a lamaze-esque exuberance toward laboring, so seeing women in agony was not helpful, and certainly not positive. Second, the music was the song that Napoleon signs to with the Happy Hands Club in Napoleon Dynamite. If you've seen the movie, you can understand how the mood the instructor had tried to create was destroyed, at least in my mind. Matt whistled the song all the way home.

We all received certificates of completion! If we don't frame ours, it might make its way into Baby Girl's baby book, where she will be able to see later that we knew how to give birth.

We were left with two inspirational quotes. One I don't remember, the other was from a child's book about a spider. The spider is worried about having children, but she's reassured that it's easy. Is it just me, or would we not have just taken an 8-hour class if birth were easy?

So are we "ready?" Let's just say I'm still holding out for my good friend, the stork.

Childbirth class part 3

The theme for today's class seemed to be pain. Pain and I don't really get along, but seeing as we'll be sharing close quarters in a few short weeks, I'm okay with getting reacquainted over ice cream (or fruit snacks from the snack table, as was the case for this class).

The problem is that we're taking a class taught by a woman (and her sidekick) who seems to embrace pain and wish it upon us--but only in the nicest way. I don't think we're the only ones in the class who are a bit disconcerted by this, but we wouldn't know, as we're only allowed to admit our fear if we're writing it in colorful marker on a large piece of kindergartenesque white paper.

We were happy to find that the white paper was nowhere to be seen this class, but that meant there was no way to let my instructor(s) or fellow students know that I'd rather give Matt's ex-spider a big kiss than go through labor. I felt emotionally gagged.

Our instructor, by the way, said she'd rather go through labor than have food poisoning. Really? I didn't know whether to be encouraged by this or take away a few credibility points from everything she tells us from now on.

This week, we held ice cubes to mimic the pain of labor. If labor is anything like holding an ice cube (and I've been assured it's not), I will do surprisingly well. If labor is worse than holding an ice cube, I may need the #$*@&.

No, I didn't just swear at you. The thing is, when you're taking a childbirth class taught by a lamaze-trained instructor/doula (we unwittingly got ourselves into this situation, although we really have enjoyed most of the class), there's only one topic that's off-limits. It's what everyone's been telling me to get to relieve pain. No, not candles and deep-breathing techniques. It starts with an E. Got it?

The #$*@& is inserted into your spine when you (or your husband) just can't take it anymore. People ask me if I want to get the #$*@&. No, after seeing the video (and even before that), I absolutely don't. Nor do I want to face labor pain. Nor do I want to eat any more salad, ever. There are women out there who are either ultra-tough or have ultra-easy labors, or a combination, and don't opt for an epidural. I know I'm not the first, and I think the second is akin to winning the lottery, so I imagine I'll be offering anyone who could push a rusted needle into my spine my firstborn if they'll just make the pain stop. Although I suppose that would defeat the purpose.

But our class instructor doesn't know this. In fact, much of the class was spent watching the instructor and instructor sidekick dance around the #$*@& issue every time it came up, yet pretend to be accepting of it at the same time. In fact the instructor compared the #$*@& and other interventions to weeds--if they're planted in the right place, they can be beautiful flowers. Yet still weeds.

One girl was brave enough to say that she was planning to get the #$*@&, and did manage to get a certain amount of approval from the instructor sidekick only because she's having twins. The rest of us have no excuse.

We were reminded of all the evils that result from the #$*@&: being confined to bed, constant fetal monitoring (Matt and I are still trying to figure out how that's evil), reduced ability to labor and push effectively, a damaged reputation in the lamaze community. I realize they're simply trying to open our minds to this new idea of not getting an #$*@&, but knowing most of us probably will, can they please tell us how to make the best of it? Remind us to bring magazines or something for our long hours of lounging?

We were read an inspirational quote this class, but not given one. I don't remember what the quote was, but it worried me. Something about how the pain can't overcome you because the pain is you. Would that make you feel better?

Despite the #$*@& issue, we thought last night's class was informative and helpful. Next week is the last one, but, as a bonus blog, you'll be hearing about our hospital tour the following week.

Childbirth class part 2

Better. Useful, even. We're encouraged: we might actually be halfway prepared for labor and delivery after all.

Always the overachievers, we were the first to arrive by 5 minutes. We spent our time overachieving even more by getting to know the instructor (the class isn't graded, but we figured that when we're dealing with people who may be remotely involved in the birthing process, brownie points may still come in handy). We have lots in common! Although we're no longer surprised to find fellow midwesterners in the Triangle area (we're not the only midwesterners who realized the Triangle is simply a warmer, more fun midwest, as long as you can ignore the rednecks), we are always happy to. She hails from the Twin Cities, as do many midwesterners, and her husband is in science writing. We chatted happily and felt like traitors after the scathing review we gave the class last time.

Once all the laggards arrived, we picked up right where we left off last time. I was reminded of kindergarten as we all sat on the floor, juice boxes in hand, working in groups to come up with ultra-simplistic ideas for ways to relax during labor and writing them with colorful markers on giant sheets of white paper. Fortunately, I had to use the bathroom and excused myself. I figured I could escape to the restroom twice during the class if I needed to without anyone really noticing. Sometimes it pays to be pregnant.

As I returned to the class, sanity recaptured and with a renewed vested interest in my juice box, we were beginning a review of what we learned last time. Matt and I both found it ironic that the instructor seemed to have a skewed idea of what we'd covered, asking technical questions about what happens during labor that no one seemed to be able to answer. If she would've asked about our culture's notions of childbirth, I'm sure we all would've done much better. She brought us up to speed and we continued from there.

You'll all be happy to note that Cranky Guy was nicer this time. He made one snide remark, but with a smile. He was probably just having a bad day last time.

Believe it or not, the best part of the class was practicing effective laboring techniques. We learned that the best laboring techniques included backrubs of some sort. As the one who would unfailingly be on the receiving end of the backrubs, potentially for upwards of 15 hours, I received this news with great joy.

Which was somewhat short lived when they handed around clothespins for everyone. These were to be fastened to our ears for the duration of a short contraction. I don't have my ears pierced for a reason. Matt didn't think I was going to make it.

But I did! I kept that clothespin on my ear for the required 30-40 seconds, and then a second time for even longer without making a peep. Looks like I'll be able to survive labor after all! I did worry the whole time that the clothespin was going to cut through my ear and I'd end up in the emergency room, and was somewhat surprised that it didn't even draw blood. We're told that next week we'll be holding ice. I'll be sure to bring my mittens.

As a side note, I wonder what would've happened if I'd refused the clothespin, or removed it prematurely. After all, I will be enduring enough pain in a few short weeks, so why rush it? Would I have flunked the class? Would they have tattooed "epidural" to my forehead? Or gone ahead and given it to me at that moment? Would I have been spat on by all the other clothespin-festooned students? Maybe we'll find out next week if I can't handle the ice.

As a reward for the clothespin trick, each couple was given a plastic back massager. Very fitting, and it in itself was worth the $20 class fee.

We also received another inspirational quote, which I haven't yet read, as well as more homework: to practice the backrubs. Sign me up! Actually, I haven't read the homework sheet so there might be more, but I think it's sometimes okay to hear only what you want to hear.

Last week's homework, by the way, did actually get done. I'd told Matt I'd do it when he did, and finally on Monday night he found the time. The homework was to dredge up fears, and then compose 2 affirmations for each to counteract them. It went something like this:

Labor will be painful.
Affirmation 1: Yup.
Affirmation 2: And I'll be getting backrubs the entire time (I'd already been clued in on the backrubs before class #2)

Something could happen to me or the baby (or Matt if he says the wrong thing while I'm in pain):
Affirmation 1: That doesn't really happen anymore
Affirmation 2: It just doesn't really happen anymore

I'll be sleep-deprived and cranky in the first few weeks/months:
Affirmation 1: That's not really my problem, it's everyone else's
Affirmation 2: We'll put the DVD player upstairs in our bedroom and I'll live there until I can be nice again

Overall, I learned this class that clothespins are painful, but I can survive.

Childbirth class

Last night we had our first (of four) childbirth classes.

Hmm.

For the record, we both prefer the stork method.

We were the first to arrive, exactly on time, with the sleeping bag and three pillows our information sheet told us to bring. As we were the only ones who followed the instructions to the letter, we can bet Baby Girl is going to have the best exploding volcano her 4th-grade science fair has ever seen. As if there was any doubt.

As people were arriving, we were encouraged to look at the informational posters around the room. My favorite was a "road map" of pregnancy. Imagine a long, winding road (that, for some reason, they decided to pave with yellow brick--no mention of Dorothy or Scarecrow anywhere, though). All along the road were placed cartoon pictures of a woman laboring in agony. The road had two offshoots: the "back labor" offshoot, which promises extra agony, and the "epidural" offshoot, which rockets you to the end like the game Chutes and Ladders, amid pictures of a happy, resting woman. From this, I learned that childbirth may be painful. I couldn't stop staring.

Once everyone arrived, we began sharing our feelings about birth. This continued for two hours, almost until the end of class. The end. The $20 for this class not refunded.

Fortunately, there were snacks. In the car on the way, Matt and I had been wondering what kinds of snacks they'd serve. Would they have the cookie/potato chip table for the guys, and the carrot stick/broccoli table for the preggos? Would I be glared at if I migrated toward the cookie/potato chip table? We made a pact that we'd go to our designated tables and he'd get plenty of extra cookies to share (and I'd get plenty of carrots to share). Thank goodness I have such an understanding husband!

I did feel better when we were talking about our pregnancy cravings, however, and the woman with twins mentioned she'd been craving Pizza Hut deep-dish pizza. Her husband chimed in that they'd already had it a couple times that week. So, apparently, all the other pregnant women out there aren't eating 80 servings of veggies a day as some pregnancy books and websites would have me believe. I think that was one of the more helpful things I learned last night.

It turned out that the snacks were juice boxes (100% juice, no added sugar) and "healthy" snacks, a few of which were actually healthy, all of which were not too unhealthy and none of which fell into any of my cravings categories. Nonetheless, they certainly beat out carrots and broccoli.

A few notable moments:

At one point, the instructor was asking us to come up with ways we could alleviate our fears. One woman suggested prayer. The instructor agreed, but then asked, for those who weren't religious, what's the exact same thing as prayer? The group came up with meditation. Wait a second--the exact same thing? Umm.... Fortunately the guy in the corner who never once smiled reminded the instructor that they're different. She managed to eek out one of those Unitarian Universalist feel-good phrases to smooth things over. Crisis averted.

This is the same guy who, when he was introducing himself and telling the class what he liked to do for fun, sarcastically said he enjoyed listening to his wife talk about every detail of her day for two or three hours when he came home from work. Hopefully they were just having a bad night.

I asked about walking epidurals, which are basically milder than the original so you can still walk around a bit. I was informed that most women who want epidurals want complete and total pain relief, and not just partial pain relief. Thank you for your stereotype, but I don't quite fit (not yet, anyway).

We have homework. Because we didn't discuss our fears enough in class, we were given the assignment to come up with some more fears at home, and then address them with positive affirmations. I told Matt I'd do my homework after he did.

We did each receive an inspirational quote to take home. Maybe that was worth $20?

Not that I don't like sharing feelings. I just don't want to pay $20 per class to do so among strangers (but are they strangers? we spent 30 minutes introducing ourselves), especially when there are so many helpful things we could cover, like the possible medical interventions we may need to make snap decisions on, or how to recognize pre-term labor. If I start having contractions 3 minutes apart tomorrow and the doctor wants to do an emergency c-section, I really don't think it's going to matter how the media influences my culture's notions of childbirth, and other such topics from last night.

1 class down, $60 worth of classes left. We truly are optimistic that we'll get the information we're hoping for. If not, at least hopefully we'll have 4 good inspirational quotes to get us through.