My Labour Story: Part 4... My Heart Breaks

I had a great visit with a friend tonight, and I got to recalling a part of my labour story... I know I haven't finished it on here, and it's been intentional. I feel like it was traumatic and it hurts to think about. I wanted to document the story so I would always remember the emotion... how things happened and the details. I don't honestly think I would forget, but I know the mind has the powerful ability to block out the bad things to trick us into further procreation. Ha.


Anyway, if you haven't read the first parts, you can find:
Part One HERE
Part Two HERE
Part Three HERE.


I follow the Badass Breastfeeder on Facebook, and she shared the following photo. It got me thinking that I NEED to tell this part of the story. To gain some kind of acceptance and closure to how things went down.

It really is true.

I just re-read part three to refresh my own mind. And while I am F_CKING HILARIOUS, I also feel sick inside revisiting that night. But here goes. (The things I do for you guys... hehe).


I was pushing and pumping my pain pump thing. The nurse somehow got approval to let me keep using the pain pump because I was feeling things so much but still pushing despite it all. She really was great. Alice, I thank you.


Do you remember the monitors I talked about in Part Three? They showed both the baby's and my heart rate. What I couldn't see in my insane state of determination was that the baby's heart rate was sitting just over 200. Not a good thing. I also remember the Obstetrician commenting that her head felt swollen, and that was also not a good thing.


The Hubs could see the monitor, and after all the pushing, he could tell that something wasn't right.

The doc had come back in, and it was then that he said he believed it best to use the vacuum to help get the baby out. I had heard horrific stories of forceps deliveries, and I really really didn't want that. It was unspoken that if things didn't move along soon, I would need to have a C-section.


As you all know quite well by now, I am a huge wuss and I probably would STILL be recovering today if I'd been forced into the C-section. I heal sloooowly and always have complications. It's kind of my thing.


So I prayed to the vagina gods to spare me lifelong disfigurement and I agreed to the vacuum. The doc said it should be fairly easy to get her out with it, along with my pushing. He casually asked the nurse if they should call "peds" (pronounced peeds, meaning pediatric docs). He played it so cool. So did she. She said "probably". I had no idea that my baby was in danger and that I needed to get her out. NOW. Like, NOW NOW. She made a call, but it didn't register in my brain.


I commend the Hubs for staying calm and supportive. I can only imagine how scared and helpless he must have felt knowing there was absolutely NOTHING he could do to help the baby or change things for the better. He did the best thing he could have, by staying calm and essentially pretending he knew nothing. For that, I thank him. I had been the calm one throughout the start, but he was clutch when I needed him. Had he started to panic, I would have lost my shit and things could have ended much, much differently.


Now, a lot of moms will tell you that after enough hours of pushing, you won't give a shit who sees your boobs, your lady parts, and it won't matter if you poo all over the walls. Surprisingly, I was okay with the nurse (though I would have preferred to have wiped my own butt if given the choice... damn huge belly and peeing laying down...), and I eventually was comfortable with the male OB I had.  I was not okay with students, I was not okay with shitting myself (though if it would have helped the baby I would have). I thought that we were still smooth sailing.


Then 4 more doctors entered the room. I specifically remember trying to cover my lady parts with my hands, WHILE MY LEGS WERE UP ON A BAR, mid-push as the OB was trying to Dyson out little Baby D. Yes, apparently I was still a bit self conscious, but also taken aback by the new viewing section of my labour.


The room was set up in such a way that there was a table across from where I was laying, where they test the baby's reactions (APGAR score) and clean baby up before handing back to mom. These doctors quietly began setting up, not saying a word, besides whispering with the nurse. I remember feeling totally confused and starting to feel nervous. I didn't think this was standard operating procedure, but I was totally exhausted and relatively vulnerable.


I asked who the male doctor was. I don't remember if the OB answered me or not.


I kept pushing. I may have been crying, I don't remember.


I remember that Baby D got closer to freedom, and then the worst burning pain I've ever felt took over my loins. I may have sworn a curse word or two, which was pretty tame for me considering I hadn't really before that.


And then she was out.


All day we heard as other babies were born around us in the nearby rooms. Sweet, frantic little newborn cries as they were thrust into the bright, loud scary world. The same sound in each room.


My baby made no such sound. She made no sound at all. The OB held her up, and I still can see her little white limp body in his hands. No noise. No sign of life. No sign of anything.


I asked if she was okay. No one spoke. I raised my voice. I asked if she was alive. I started to yell, asking if she was breathing, if she was okay. No one spoke.


The team of doctors took her to that table, and surrounded her as they worked. I couldn't see her at all.


I remember the OB casually mentioning that the umbilical cord had been wrapped around both legs, and somewhat tangled. I remembered thinking that explained a lot because no one could seem to figure out how she was positioned in me (my bump looked quite weird and they needed a bedside ultrasound to figure it out the day before).


The OB wasn't a jerk. He wasn't dismissive. He was just incredibly calm and I think trying to get me to simmer down. But not hearing anything was just awful.


There was no crying, no coughing.


I was stuck on the delivery table while the doctor started stitching up all that had been burning. I could feel the stitches and I remember he had to give me another needle with extra freezing there so he could do his handy work.


I felt so helpless and so so scared. I was certain she was dead. The little squirmy ball of baby inside of me for the past 8 months came out silent and still. I was starting to go into shock.


My baby still wasn't making any noise. I asked the Hubs over and over what was going on. It was kind of a blur, but I remember that feeling of being trapped on the table and feeling so powerless.


At one point they asked the Hubs to come over, and I think he then cut the cord.


Then, I heard some kind of sound, and I think the Hubs said she was ok. I didn't believe him.


Then this little, sweet, monkey of a girl was passed to me. She was wrapped in a towel. I don't know if I asked the Hubs to take her photo, or if he did it on his own. I remember the flash went off and the team of doctors actually shouted/scolded him, even though it was accidental.


I held her for all of 45 seconds, and then she was whisked away.

My first few second with her. Looking at this brings back the disbelief, fear, and pain. I remember thinking she looked so beautiful and so perfect.

She didn't get skin to skin contact.
I didn't get to try to nurse her.
I didn't get to feel her sweet little newborn skin on my chest, or get to feel her heart beating.
I didn't get to shower her with the love I had.


They took her away. And that was it.
I didn't understand. I wanted to see her, I needed to see her. The doctor finished stitching, and the nurse told me I had to stay laying down.


The Hubs didn't know what to do. I was hysterical and she was leaving, so I told him to go to her. To go with her. I didn't want her to die alone if she was going to die.


It all felt like an awful dream. It didn't feel like I had a baby. I remember the doctor cleaning up... I had bled quite a bit. I remember the spot light that had been on me was turned off. I was told to rest. It felt in my heart that my little girl was dying in some hospital room near me, and that I wouldn't see her again.


At that point I'm pretty sure that the Hubs knew she was stable, but in my state of shock I couldn't understand that.


I remember trying to rest, and then insisting that I needed to see her. I have no idea how much time had passed. I know the Hubs was there for part of it, and the nurse was trying to get him to sleep in the chair there with me. But he was also with the baby. It is all mixed up in my mind.


The nurse said I could go to her in the Intensive Care Unit if I could walk to the bathroom. I got to the bathroom, and once I tried to sit down, I remember shaking so violently and shuddering so hard that I smacked my head off the shower and almost hit the floor. I've heard of women "getting the shakes" after labour and medication, but this was more seizure-like than I ever could have guessed.


I was in incredible pain and so unbelievably cold. The nurse barely stopped me from face planting on the tile floor. I had no control over my body.


It took her and the Hubs to get me into a wheelchair to return the 10 feet I needed to pass to get back to the bed. At that point she told me there was no way I could see the baby. I remember crying so hard. I was certain that I was going to die. I know that probably sounds quite stupid and dramatic, but I had nothing left in me and my body was turning on me entirely. I had been awake for a long time, with no food, in shock, and completely out of control.


The pregnancy felt like an illusion. I had no baby. I was confused and weak and so tired. I remember wanting the Hubs to be with her, and being so sad and scared that I was dying and that I wouldn't get to see or hold my baby again.


Around 6am or so, I think, we were moved up to a room on the maternity ward. I remember crying, sick that I wasn't with my girl, and Alice patted me on the head and told me to rest, that I would see my baby soon. Alice was just so sweet and kind and rational throughout.


I wanted to hug her and thank her and cry on her shoulder, but I was too weak to do anything but lay on my side in the fetal position and whisper thank you to her through my tears. I clearly remember the Hubs giving her a big hug and thanking her immensely for her help. I remember feeling so glad and thankful that he did because I couldn't, and I remember feeling so much love towards him for being so candid and sincere with her. I know he appreciated all she did for us.


We tried to sleep. Our neighbours in the room were loud jerkfaces.

I will post about my first real meeting with my baby next. But this is crazy long.

____________________________

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Amanda Todd, Bullying, and Bullshit Committees

I usually try to keep this blog light. And by light, I mean frivolous, pointless, full of profanity, and lots of ridiculous photos modified in MS Paint. (Don't mock, I'm using a PC and have no apps. Also? I suck at art).

But this post is extremely serious.

An issue far too close to home, literally and figuratively, has shocked and saddened me, along with most of the world aware of it. I have been losing sleep over it. So I figured I would take to the blog to vent and decompress a little.

For those of you who aren't aware of the suicide of a 15 year old girl named Amanda Todd, you can read about her heartbreaking experience and tragic early death here. You can also view the video cry for help that she posted on YouTube here, one month before she took her own life.

This post is for 15 year old Amanda Todd, who took her own life in Port Coquitlam, BC. (Image credit: Facebook)

I am furious. Furious that no one could help her. Furious that kids are that cruel. Furious that some sick bastard lured her into trusting him and then would not cease humiliating her. And furious that all kinds of school board members and politicians are making heartfelt statements about bullying being a community issue that should be stopped... without any real plan, course of action, or tangible solution for kids experiencing this.

Solutions suggested thus far? Talk to your parents. Talk to a counsellor. Seek help.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Because that will stop the asshole kids who taunt, name call, harass, humiliate, follow, shout out, circle, threaten, assault, and terrorize victims.

Think I sound harsh? Think I am only referring to extreme cases? I am not. If you were lucky enough to escape bullying in your youth, you are one exception to this.

Why am I so very extremely furious? Because I was in her shoes 22 years ago, and I continued to wear them until after my sister was married. Yet without the proliferation and immediate humiliation of social media, which only makes things exponentially worse.

My personal hell started in grade 5 or so. I held hands with a boy two years older than me. That is when I recall the worst of the torment starting. I was called a slut, a whore, a hooker. I had groups of girls who would walk around me in a circle, yell obscene things at me, and tell me I was a worthless piece of shit.

I WAS TEN YEARS OLD.

TEN GODDAMNED YEARS OLD.

Wash, rinse, repeat. It didn't matter if I was kind, or quiet, or crying. It didn't matter if I ignored them, pretended I couldn't hear them. It didn't matter if I ignored the boys who liked me, or if I played terribly in gym class. Didn't matter if I made the volleyball team, found excuses to not go outside at lunch or if I didn't go out socially.

Back then the biggest technological advance was three-way calling, in which you could be convinced to share something personal only to find out that your crush, or your enemy, was listening on the line the entire time. But then, the worst was through word-of-mouth, and I dreaded getting on the country school bus the next day. It wasn't broadcast instantly to hundreds of others via Facebook. The thought makes me shudder.

I know, and I think that you will agree, that most kids just have a deep, deep desire to be accepted. To be "one of the group", and to feel like they have a place to belong. If kids reject you, you try to make friends with other people. You try to find your place. The place where you can be yourself without being torn to shreds and left in tears. You try to find even one friend who will let you feel like you are not alone in this world.

Amanda Todd did just that. She was trying to meet people. She chatted online with others. And being young, unaware and impressionable, when someone showed her that friendliness and acceptance, I imagine that Amanda felt a huge weight lifted off - a huge relief to finally connect with another person. She found solidarity and someone who was kind and complimentary to her.

Amanda M. Todd died October 10, 2012. (Image Credit: Facebook)

How could she have known, at 12 years old, that the sick f*ck on the other end of the chat was a man looking to destroy her sense of self worth?

Amanda Todd trusted her new friend, and in a moment of youthful indiscretion - a moment that she could not have begun to comprehend what possible consequences would be involved - she did something risky and "big girl" and she flashed her webcam as asked.

Before you say "Amanda should have known better, she should never have done that, she didn't know who it was, or what they could do with the image", I'd like you to ask yourself the differences between your jaded, aware adult brain (aware of the evil that some people are capable of in this world) and what your mind was thinking of at the age of 12. My guess is that the two are very different, and that the 12 year old you was simply seeking the connection, acceptance and compliments of that seemingly kind person on the other end of the chat.

People keep talking about how she "made mistakes" but shouldn't have to pay for them for the rest of her life. But I take that even a step further. She was twelve years old. She likely had no idea that those few seconds in time could last the last three years of her life. Her tormented, lonely life.

Amanda Todd was having an online chat. She wasn't drinking and driving. She wasn't shoplifting. Amanda had fleeting seconds that changed things forever. If it was a normal person on the opposite end of her chat, it would have been a non-issue. It wouldn't be considered a mistake. The moment would have passed and she may have realized she didn't want to do something like that again. In the moment she was being a kid - having fun, trying to be accepted, trying to please. It is only because the twisted idiot that she was chatting with turned it into a disgusting, life changing moment for her. So was it really her mistake? She had no control over what the bastard did with her image after the fact. The blame lies with the harasser, people.

When Amanda didn't provide more graphic content to the harasser, he threatened to share the image with the world. And he did. And the police were called once her exposure was shared with her teachers and friends. And her life would never, ever be the same again.

I remember watching a movie recently where the starlet was accused of sleeping around the school. It was entirely false, but the entire school was made aware within a short period of time. I commented to my husband how horrible bullying and harassment must be today in school, with people being able to simultaneously take your photo or video, upload it online, and share it via Facebook, Twitter and email.

Remember when you tripped in the cafeteria and landed face down in your chocolate milk in grade nine? People laughed, kids pointed, you were called a dumb klutz, someone might have even kicked you when you were down. You may have endured teasing for the week, or a few weeks. But you were never immortalized at once on social media sites for the entire world to see.

And we aren't talking chocolate milk here. We are essentially talking what comes down to some sick pervert posting and circulating a version of child pornography with the world. With malicious and cruel intent.

My personal torment continued into high school. When I wouldn't sleep with my boyfriend at the time, Jay C., I was subjected to being called a "tight bitch", baby, suck, and was told I would die with a tight p**sy. His ex girlfriend Tina, her friend Tammy, his friend Curt, and himself, decided to shout this to me regularly around the door to the school cafeteria.

And this was after months of being followed by Tina and Tammy, with them waiting and staring at me outside my geography class door. I used to feel sick knowing I had no choice but to walk by them to get to my next class. They used to bark at me. Because I was a female dog, a bitch. I assume she was mad that I was dating her ex.

It became so severe and so consuming, I eventually had to drop out for a semester, even though I was on track to graduate a year early. I was being constantly followed in the halls, yelled at, threatened, being told in the same breath that I was a slut and that I was tight. That I was a bitch and that I was a goody two-shoes. It was relentless.

And this was before digital cameras, webcams, hell, even scanners. I have to thank goodness that it wasn't worse than it was, which is really saying something.

Amanda Todd STILL persevered throughout this. She changed schools, twice. It haunted her and followed her no matter where she went. It wasn't just the harasser from the webcam. It was her classmates, people who claimed to like her/be into her/be her friends. Her Mom tried to find help for her. She saw doctors. She was "referred to services".

You know what? IT DIDN'T HELP.
You know why? BECAUSE THE BULLYING DIDN'T STOP.

If you have had traumatic events in your life, you never forget them. Depending on the severity of the traumas, a person can be plagued with flashbacks, intrusive dreams or thoughts, general anxiety, fear, constant vigilance, depression and low-to-non-existent self esteem and feelings of no self worth.

But if they happen, and they stop, you can try to talk through the pain and the hurt and take medication and do your best to survive through it. I've been through some horrible, horrible things that I haven't shared on this blog, but may some day. I still cry about them to this day. And I stumble and struggle and muster through my life as an adult, still not sure how to cope with some of it.

Amanda Todd tried to cope with this from age 12 to 15.
You tell me how the hell A CHILD can make sense of something like this.

I had to stand and testify at 16 years of age. I had the support of my parents, my sister, and I sat there wanting to just die and never have to think again.

Somehow, we got through it. Somehow.

Amanda was dealing with such torment on such a massive scale, and she tried to get away from it. She moved schools, she moved out of her city, she could never get away.

Amanda Todd's suffering was inescapable, because no matter what medications, therapies, counselling or support that could have been offered to her - no matter the amount of love from her family, or those who were as close to friends as she had - the harassment never stopped.

If, for some reason, you are a teenager, or a young adult, or adult reading this who is experiencing such torment - please know that ONE DAY it will stop, even if it means changing your name completely and moving to another province, state or country. Even if it means adopting an entirely different email address, cutting off communication with people from your old life, and deleting any and all Facebook, YouTube or Twitter accounts. YOU CAN ESCAPE IT, even if it seems impossible.

But this is where I am also furious.

It's damn hard, and the effects run deep.

The elementary school where I was followed, circled, and threatened to be stabbed at the end of the school year? Yeah, they had a "zero tolerance" policy for bullying. The girl threatening to kill me, Tricia G*****s, was part of the "troubled child" part of our school. They got to play video games and go bowling because they "had issues". I got to cry myself to sleep at night and live in fear at school.
That's a really clutch policy there.

The high school where my friend was beaten and had her head slammed into ceramic tile? The one where I was shoved, barked at, humiliated and followed? Well, P.J. also had a zero tolerance policy. Even on the stand, when I testified at my friend's trial about the abuse she suffered, one of the school counsellors, Pam B., managed to quote the wrong date on the stand and essentially throw both her and our testimony into question. Nothing was ever done. The tormenting didn't stop, until those bullies left school, and then finally when I got the hell out and went to college in another city.

You can make all the committees you want, school board. You can have a compendium on bullying and vow that the community needs to step in. You can have think tanks about what services should be available to students.

IT'S ALL BULLSHIT.

Why?

Because the very thing that needs to be changed is ALLOWING THE BULLIES TO KEEP BULLYING.

I talked my face off through my experience. My mom listened to tears and worry and sadness for days on end. My dad tried to step in and tell a few to stop or else we would pursue things through police. I had counselling, I talked to doctors, I was medicated.

IT ONLY CHANGED ONCE THE BULLIES WERE REMOVED FROM MY LIFE.

So while I would be pissed off if the community didn't respond with some kind of strategy to improve things, it ultimately comes down to the fact that TALK IS CHEAP.

I wish they could start implementing mandatory reporting from classmates, surveillance on the school ground, strict expulsion for students who bully, kids who monitor for such activity in case the bullies corroborate each others' stories and claim innocence, and strict legal and criminal record penalties for verbal, emotional and physical abuse for anyone regardless if they are under 18.

But you know what? Then the bullies wait until kids like Amanda Todd are off school property and are walking home. Or until they are on the city bus, or at the mall. Or they take to the internet, where there appears to be no goddamn consequences or follow up to online harassment.

THERE NEEDS TO BE SERIOUS, LEGAL CONSEQUENCES FOR BULLIES. If this were adults tormenting each other with hurled insults, stalking and threatening emails, it would be taken slightly more seriously.

But yet the burden of proof still lies with the victim.
Our justice system is warped. Victims are being further victimized.

When I was 15 and trusted an older guy who seemed to like and accept me, I was victimized. I even went to trial. I sat on the stand and had to detail every last humiliating detail.

You know what happened?
He got 3 months of house arrest, and the local paper cut me to shreds.

It's bullshit.

Amanda, I'm so sorry that you endured this and that no one could stop the bullying. (Image Credit: YouTube)

I am so sorry you had to endure this hatred, this evil, Amanda Todd. I wish that you didn't take your own life, as do the GOOD people of Port Coquitlam, Coquitlam, Port Moody, Burnaby, Vancouver, and the rest of the people who have a heart and a soul in this world.

I hope that you may rest in peace finally, since there is no way for us to help you now. I wish we could get you back and help you escape it and make the bad guys pay for all they have done. I hope that something, anything, positive can come of this, since we can't get you back, but the world has noticed how insane things were allowed to get, with nothing being done.

I hope that your sad, early, unnecessary death will help others out there hang on a little longer, be able to find others experiencing the same, and be able to survive the torment.

Amanda Todd didn't deserve this.
Something big needs to change.

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