Guest Mama: Callen's Birth

"Why do people say "grow some balls?" Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding."  -Sheng Wang

Ever since my birth experience with Van, I have had a few friends comment to me that they are interested in having a child without medications but feel overwhelmed about the possibility. While I do my best to reassure my fellow mamas and mamas-to-be that each woman is capable of far more than she realizes, I know that the prospect of having a natural birth can be daunting. Even as it was happening to me, I repeatedly wondered, "Can I do this? Am I strong enough?" The answer to both of those questions is yes, but I just have to re-center my mind sometimes. The truth is that, even though I thought I couldn't do it with my first two children and I eventually had epidurals, if my doctor had gotten in my face and told me that an epidural would have killed my baby and I'd have to do it naturally, of course I would have done it. This isn't to say that epidurals kill babies; rather, I'm just using a hypothetical example to show that if I had been given no choice, I could have done it.

I started thinking that perhaps this blog could occasionally be used for such encouragement, and so my friend Keri volunteered to share her birth story with Callen, whom she birthed without medications. You have met Keri before as the fabulous lady who donated breast milk with me in honor of Aiden Smith, and also the CEO of Mama Kneads Massage. 

If you're a mama who birthed your child without medications and would like to write up your story in a guest post to share with others, please contact me or leave a comment below! I welcome woman-to-woman encouragement, as I believe that building each other up is essential. We are stronger, more skilled, and happier as we connect with one another and rely on others for support. So let me delay no further--here is the story of the birth of Callen Jay Kelley in the words of Keri:

On Saturday morning, June 30th (our due date was June 29), around 10:30 am, I started having what I thought might be contractions.  I had Phil bring my stability ball to rock around on and he started packing up things for the possible hospital trip while I called our doula, Jennifer Tolman. The pain wasn't too bad but I do remember thinking I might throw up at one point.  Jennifer helped confirm that I was probably going into labor.  We drove to OU Children's and got checked in with our midwife, Dawn Karlin, around 1:00 pm.  At that time, I was dilated to a 6 and the baby had dropped since my check five days earlier to somewhere between Stage 0 to a +1. We also found out that my contractions were actually coming closer together than what I had realized.  I spoke to my friend Kate in Houston on the phone and she was so sweet to say a prayer with me.

Jennifer arrived at the hospital just as we were making our way to the birthing suite to get settled.  We started an IV with antibiotics to help protect the baby from Strep B around 2:15 pm.  Since I'm allergic to penicillin, I was given vancomycin that runs on a 12 hr cycle so I was set to get a second dose much later if my labor lasted that long; we didn't think it would since I was progressing so easily. Within minutes of receiving the antibiotic, my scalp was itching like crazy and as the hour/drip went on, the itching moved to my belly, back, and sides.  Phil put a cold cloth on my skin to help relieve the itching. It turns out that the strain of Strep B I had is only treatable with Pen and Vanco.

To help my labor progress, Jennifer rubbed my legs.  She also told Phil how to help by rubbing pressure points on my hands and ears. The three of us walked the Sky Walk of the hospital and chatted. I felt like I was in a dream because everything indicated labor but I was totally not in any discomfort.  I just felt really excited.  All of our family had arrived by this time. At 5 pm, we did nipple stimulation using a pump for an hour and a half to help the contractions along.  Just after 6:30 pm, Dawn did a membrane sweep. She also did a check and said I was dilated to an 8.  We took another walk and added squats this time.

As the evening passed by, Dawn suggested that we break my water to really get things going since we were on a time crunch to avoid another dose of meds that my body would likely have a more severe reaction to if given a second dose.  I was hesitant to make this decision but Jennifer has worked with Dawn before and assured me that this wasn't a normal practice for Dawn. I asked that we wait another hour (til 9 pm) and then we could do it. We were hopeful that breaking the water would really send me into pushing. Dawn was patient with me waiting to make sure I felt comfortable with the decision.

At 9:15 pm, Dawn broke my water. The gush of water grossed me out. I know the contractions got stronger because this kicked off the hours of Jennifer and Phil helping me through.  My mom and my cousin Mandy also came in to help Phil and Jennifer put pressure on my hips. At some points, I could see everyone watching the contraction monitor and they'd ask if I felt anything...I wouldn't typically feel much at certain phases.  Contractions were coming close together too...like a minute and a half apart.  But I do remember being zoned out at times too while I had my hips and back pushed on.  I'd give a cue and say "Okay, one is coming now" and they'd squeeze while I sat on the ball and leaned onto the bed. I know that I threw up once but I'm not sure what time that was.  From what I had read, that was a good sign that the baby would come soon. Jennifer told me the same thing.

Somewhere during the contractions, we were using the breast pump again.  Dawn said this was a first.  Another funny thing that happened that I forgot was Dawn missing her rolling chair. My eyes were closed but I heard all of the laughter and could only imagine! A nurse counted to ten for me during the pushing stages - I remember telling her to count louder because I wasn't hearing the last few counts (probably because I was drowning her out with all my grunting!).

Well, the night was wearing on and my deadline for antibiotics was closing in.  At this time (maybe 2 am?), Dawn mentioned pitocin.  I was really hesitant to go there.  Afraid that I wouldn't be able to handle a more intense pain that I had heard comes with pitocin induced labors and that I'd have to cave in to all of the interventions that I was set on avoiding. Again, I bargained for a bit more time while I made certain I was comfortable with the decision and tried to ramp myself up to really work at pushing.  Jennifer was a sounding board again as she assured me that Dawn would never go there unless she thought it would help in this situation.  I agreed to start pitocin but asked for the lowest dose. I think it was started around 2:30 am at the lowest dosage and was only increased once. Sure enough, pushing was closer together now.  Before, my contractions had slowed to about 7 minutes apart so any pushing I was doing wasn't working the baby down, down, down.  I'd push him down and he'd move back up during my resting stages. So, I think we tried almost every position possible for pushing.  I laid on my side in the bed, I squatted at the foot of the bed hanging from a towel wrapped around a roll bar attached to the bed, I sat on the toilet, I sat on the ball and would squat when needed, I hung over the top of the bed with my knees in the bend of the bed. It was crazy.  I was trying so hard.  I was getting discouraged and asking my team for anything I could do or try to succeed. I felt like there must be something I could do better even though I was pulling stuff out of my mind from the books I had read about keeping my face and jaw relaxed, even sticking my tongue out!  Phil probably thought I was having a seizure. He was so supportive of every crazy-sounding decision I made regarding pregnancy, birth options and postpartum stuff. He really endured the night's challenges right beside me.  He said it was really tough seeing me go through the pushing parts. He also said he was able to see the baby's head for several hours before we had delivery.  I will add that the baby was showing no signs of distress through the whole night.  We opted against the second dose of Vanco even though our 12 hour mark had passed.

Dawn and Jennifer suggested I try the toilet again as that was where I seemed to make the most progress.  I was freaked out about that option and asked what the plan was if the baby did indeed come there...just who was going to dive in and catch it?! Dawn assured me that she would check the baby and move me out of there before that happened.  And that's exactly how it went!  I got him down further, we moved to the bed and Phil thinks I pushed for about another hour laying on my side.  I was able to feel his head and this gave me a boost of motivation and keep going.  I know Dawn offered for me to feel once more but I remember thinking I didn't want to lose focus so I declined.  My mind was somewhere else in space so I couldn't chance bringing myself back to reality just yet--I was so close to my goal.  And I guess it's unusual but he came out sideways/transverse?  His little (or might I say big) head was turned toward his shoulder.  Phil said he just kept coming and coming and coming...all 22 inches. He weighed 8 lb 7 oz and was completely perfect.  We delayed cord clamping and he was placed directly on my stomach.  Moments later, I announced "It's a boy!" loud enough to let the family waiting across the hall to hear.  I cut the cord and we all breathed a sigh of relief for having him here.  I was so exhausted but proud for not having ever given up, not asking for pain meds and not feeling like I couldn't do it.  Yes, I questioned whether I could do it "fast enough" but really remained strong and determined. I had a first degree tear and got a few stitches--this heals fast and while I felt some "ring of fire," I did not feel a tear. He was born at 6:09 am on July 1st, 2012. So, while I skipped early labor and active labor was a breeze, the hard labor lasted from 10 pm to 6 am making 8 hours.

I'm sharing my story so that anyone who thinks they want to experience labor this way but don't know what to expect or who to ask, know that it can be done!  Know that your body is fearfully and wonderfully made in a way that is perfect for the child God gives you.  I don't judge other options but wish more women believed in themselves just enough to consider the old-fashioned way that our grandmas know and their grandmas and so on.  That's our birth story of Callen Jay Kelley.   

Soul Searching

Several months ago, a friend of mine commented to me that he thinks I am one of the "most intense people" that he knows. My friend is always kind and gentle, and I think he meant this as a compliment; nonetheless, I was taken aback by his observation and felt mildly slapped in the face. Me, intense? I mentioned to BJ that my friend said this, and BJ basically immediately responded that he thinks my friend's observation is spot-on and he wholeheartedly agrees. My feelings were so hurt, but I wasn't sure why. I had never thought of myself as an intense or exhausting person, but if my partner in life, who knows me better than anyone and sees me everyday, could completely agree with this statement about me, then I knew it must be true. Self-examination was in order. I set out to explore examples of this "intensity," how it plays out in my life specifically, and why I reacted negatively to the comment.

My soul-searching intersected with Adele of course, as do many roads in my emotional and daily life. George is still obsessed with her voice and even her face, and my Adele Live DVD calms even his worst tantrums. The moment he sees her face, he goes into a trance like a man in love. It's hilarious, but that's not where I was actually going with this. We play a lot of Adele in the car since we are a family of Adele fans, and I began hearing with new ears the song "Don't You Remember." One line in particular states, "I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness, and a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head." That last part is what really stands out to me: a heaviness in my head. Since Adele is not actually a personal acquaintance of mine (shocking, I know), I have no access to pick her brain on what exactly she meant when she wrote this line. The line really resonates with me though because I see within me a personality characteristic of getting easily emotionally involved in circumstances, which oftentimes gets me in trouble. Most of the time I feel joy and utter contentment with my life, but there are times when things aren't going so well and I find myself consumed with grief---sometimes grief that doesn't even really feel like my own except that I have made it so. A heaviness in my head. BJ has been witness to this tendency in me since we first met, and over the years I have become wise to it as well. I find myself having to safeguard myself against it these days.

A perfect example of the heaviness in my head is the last nearly-two years of my life. Granted, during these two years I have been pregnant with two different babies and nursed one for a solid year. In short, my life hasn't been hormonally normal in four years. I'm about to give birth to my third child and my oldest one will still be only 3-1/2 years old when I do, so I'm no stranger to ups and downs these past few years. But that aside, I can see where my personal tendencies have not helped to buffer me against the downs in life that have occurred. The news of my best friend's baby Owen and his terminal brain disease rocked our world. BJ and I were visibly depressed for over a month, often tearful and despondent, but surely that is normal under the circumstances. Months went by, my own George was born, fatigue set in, and I found myself daily in tears while simultaneously feeling joyful and giddy about my own little family. As is usual, I talked with Sommer (Owen's mommy) every day, and I began feeling some relief as I knew that she was going to be okay. I found Adele's music during this time and I started listening to it almost every day and feeling relief as I did. Here, I thought, is a woman who also clearly feels heartache just like me, so I am understood by another. I could sing it out like she does, and I was learning that I was going to be alright. I wasn't quite emotionally back on my feet before my friend Laurie told me about her friend's son Aiden, who was tragically ill with whooping cough and was fighting an uphill battle. And here is where the heaviness in my head comes into play: I could have been there for Laurie but never allowed myself to get emotionally involved with Aiden. I didn't know Aiden or his family, and I didn't have to follow their "50 for Aiden" Facebook page with progress and updates, but I did. I chose to love a boy and fell in love deeply with him. He passed away three and a half weeks after I first learned of his situation, and my grief at his passing was every bit as deep as the grief of my grandparents' deaths---a child I had never met. I couldn't shake his loss, and a couple of close friends expressed their concern about my well-being in that first week, taking me under their wings, feeding me and my boys dinner because BJ was out of town, and just being there for me when I couldn't stop crying. I cried for almost a year. As I began pulling myself out of it and was finally feeling better, the May 20 tornado missed our house by 600 feet, devastated our community, killed more babies, and made fresh loss all around. This set me back a couple more months, but I can say today that the daily tears are gone and I am out of the tunnel.

Owen and Aiden will always be wholly entrenched in my soul because of the depth of their impacts on me as a person. The closure on my grief with Aiden comes because of several wonderful reasons: I have become friends with his mom Kristen, which was tangible reassurance for me that God works with peace in our lives. Secondly, my involvement with breast milk donation began because of Aiden, and that has become a passion of mine that has helped to benefit others and give me a purpose in Aiden's name. Also, I found and purchased a look-alike of Aiden's delicious little star blanket as a present from me to my next baby, little Van, so that Aiden can physically continue to be part of us and can help spread positive blessings to his little buddy Van. Having these positives in my life is inexpressibly important to me. Though these positives have come at the price of pain, I view it as a pain that has been well worth it because it has led to deeper, intense (there's that word again) relationships with others, the re-prioritizing of what is important in my life, a search into my own blessings, a proving of my own resilience, and a journey to the dark and back that has made me a more self-aware and loving person. I'm smart enough to realize that some of the grief I attributed to Aiden is really for Owen. Owen is still living, but the reality of what his life holds for him is painful to think about. He is a wonderful gift most especially to his family, but also to those of us who love him and want what is best for him. Van's middle name will be Owen, again a tangible connection to his buddy that illustrates that we are all in this together, just as with Aiden's blanket.

I do not intend for this to sound like a poor-me post. I am keenly aware that other people have suffered unimaginable losses in each of these circumstances, losses that far trump my own and produce grief beyond my capability of understanding. I have shared these stories as potential examples of the "intensity" that my friend mentioned---and my own characteristic of allowing my head to get 'heavy' during complex circumstances that are emotionally-charged but removed enough from me that I don't have to get involved. Sometimes I don't get involved. You know, hardhearted as it sounds, I barely looked at the news for a week when the Newtown school shooting happened in December because I knew for sure that I didn't have the emotional resources left to deal with anything like it. Numerous friends and family who knew my vulnerability at that time called me on that day to see how I was handling the news, and I had to admit to them that I had heard it happened but didn't want too many details because I just can't right now, I just can't. Thankfully, they seemed to understand. Perhaps that is proof of "intensity" in me...that a news story could potentially send someone over the edge and her friends know it and call her and check on her...even though she isn't remotely involved in the situation 2,000 miles away and has no greater claim to its grief than any other random Oklahoman who didn't know any of those people. It's also perhaps a testament to the awesomeness of my friends. =)

So after all of these months of soul-searching, do I agree that I am intense? Yes, I suppose so. Do I like it about myself? Yes. Yes, in fact, I do now. I think it helps me to organize my life with appropriate priorities and feel ups and downs that enrich me as a person and teach me new ways of being. I have to be careful though, I know, and keep myself from getting wrapped up in too much because I don't know how to get out of it once I'm in. As long as I know this about myself and can depend on my family and friends to keep an eye out for me, I can fuel intensity and make it a blessing rather than a curse. All of our personality characteristics reside on a continuum from good to bad; although growth is always a process, I encourage each of us to examine our own personal traits and use them for the mobilization of good in our lives. Enough about me though! Check out this picture of Owen, on the right in the green, at his second birthday party. He's so obviously surrounded by love, and I am so proud that he has reached his second birthday--previously thought to be unattainable. His stubbornness shows through every day. =)

 The black-eyed Susans that we planted last year in honor of Owen are thriving! A special flower for a special little guy!

Lovely Aiden

The Norman Transcript Article!

A couple of months ago, I was fortunate enough to collaborate with Hannah Cruz, a reporter and talented writer from the Norman Transcript. Hannah was interested in speaking with a donor from the Oklahoma Mother's Milk Bank, and the director kindly referred her to me, a mom who is always eager to share my story of breast milk donation. Hannah was extremely pleasant in our interview, seemed to have an intuition for asking all of the right questions, and then wrote this amazing article promoting the new milk bank and sharing my personal story. I could not have been more honored and thrilled. Hannah--thank you from the bottom of my heart.

It has been a year and two weeks since Baby Aiden passed away. Those who followed my milk donation story as it was happening (and those of you who read the article) know that George's and my milk donation was in honor of Aiden Smith, who lived a brief but legendary life. I love that boy and I always will, even though I never got to hold him or tell him so. Someday, someday. I posted a Facebook status on July 16th, the anniversary of his passing, that shared some raw feelings--namely that Aiden has taught me that a loss can cut one's soul to the quick, even when the love was from afar. I gave him the promise one year ago that I would try to be a better person in this life, and each day since then has been an attempt to do so. Through all of this I have had the wondrous fortune to become friends with Aiden's mommy, Kristen, who lives in Elk City near some friends of ours. We met in person one time, quite unexpectedly, at a park in Elk City, and my heart was filled by our shouts of recognition (we were already Facebook friends), hugs, and friendly chatter. She and her boy, pictured below, have filled my heart to its brim. (Picture courtesy of 50 For Aiden page.)

To my dearest friends and to my cozy bunch of readers, I extend a heartfelt thank-you for your support over the last year as I clearly struggled with this loss, and your continuous tolerance over my non-stop excitement about the milk bank. I have been so happy to see personal friends of mine become donors as well, and it makes me insanely proud of them! And to Aiden: baby boy, my work isn't done. Your memory will keep taking this world by storm because good people will keep doing good things and remembering you for them. And as for me, Aiden, you still make me want to be a better person, day by day. Love and hugs to all!

May 20: A Million Things

 I think this will be my last 'May 20' post. I think. While the process of debris removal and cleanup continues in Moore and the process of rebuilding is just beginning, the people of Moore have proven again that they are a lovely people who work, fight, and play together. BJ and I have been so pleased to see our community come together in a voting contest to help rebuild Veterans Park, which is our neighborhood park that was destroyed in the storm. At this point, the southern end of the park is now open again for walkers, joggers, and families; the northern end, which took the most direct hit, still looks like a wasteland, and sadly that is where the park's main attractions were. As of now, the playground, picnic pavilion, covered bridge, and veterans memorial are gone or damaged, but we are eager about the rebuilding process, and this contest could help a lot! If you haven't signed up yet to vote, please do by clicking here! Voting ends on July 14 I believe, and the votes count for double on those last couple of days! Currently Veterans Park holds a lead, which would be a prize of $100K.

Last week I also received in the mail my Oklahoma heart necklace from a local jewelry-maker called Vintage Pearl. Half of the proceeds went to Oklahoma disaster relief, and this necklace helped by raising $180,000 worth of funds! Now I can carry on me always my love for my community and a reminder of its strength. Hooray!

On a more serious note, I don't think I can do justice by trying to describe the emotions that most people in Moore continue to feel on a very frequent basis. Heartache and grief are not over, and not only for those who lost a loved one or their home. Even for BJ and me, whose material losses were unspeakably small, a feeling of grief and sadness pervades our beings at times as we reflect on the storm or drive about town through the remnants of what is left. The area of 4th and Telephone is particularly upsetting for me, and it was the intersection in town that I avoided the longest because I knew it would be hard for me to face. BJ and I drove through this intersection daily before the tornado; the 7-Eleven where Megan and Case Futrell and Terri Long were killed was our primary gas-up spot. Donuts are across the street, the recycling center was a few blocks north, the Moore Medical Center which is home to our amazing pediatrician Dr. Harmon is right at the intersection, and just behind it was Plaza Towers Elementary (where seven children were killed), businesses, and hundreds of homes. Now, it is a vast expanse of nothing. It truly looks like a war zone, and I kid you not when I tell you that it cripples our hearts to drive through. Crosses stand at the 7-Eleven, toothpick trees remain at the nearby Little River Park, and barren concrete pads where there used to be buildings greet the eye as one looks into a half-mile wide expanse of nothing remaining, smack dab in the middle of the city. We drove through the intersection three evenings ago and I was flooded with the familiar heartache; I asked BJ,
"How long do you think it will be before we can drive through here without feeling so awful?"
His slow response: "Oh... Probably never."
He's right. I know he's right but I didn't want to hear it. Of course this will never really leave us because it has become a part of us...it just sucks because it's a part of us that hurts. And then the light turned green and we drove through, the hundredth time I have driven through sobbing.

Megan and Case Futrell. My story on Megan and Case is not done here; I actually have the opportunity to share with the world an amazing contribution that Megan and Case both made to the Oklahoma Mother's Milk Bank following their passing, but details must follow later. May their sweet souls rest in peace.

Dr. Harmon, on the right, pictured outside the Moore Medical Center on the first day of demolition. Goodness, how we love Dr. Harmon!

As BJ and I got out about a month ago and surveyed the damage to our familiar haunts on the west side of Moore (we live on the east side and had mostly limited our travels to there), we saw firsthand the devastation that was done to my uncle's home and Wallace Horse Park, which is located right next door to the famous Orr Family Farm. Ten years ago next month, BJ and I were married in the backyard of my uncle's beautiful home; it had been the dream home that I had eyed since childhood, and when my aunt and uncle purchased it I couldn't have been more thrilled. They graciously allowed us to invite our friends and family to celebrate our vows in August 2003 in their beautiful backyard, and our memories are untarnished although the house was devastated. Next door is the horse park where my family lived for a year while I was in college. My parents were in the process of building their current home, so we rented the ranch house there on the park and lived next door to my aunt and uncle. I can't describe to you how much fun it was to live there! The horse park was home to about 200 horses, stables, an arena, and pastures for the horses to graze upon. Some of the horses were my regular friends and I visited them daily in the pasture right outside my bedroom window; I even named a few of the horses, although I know these sweet girls belonged to someone else and already had names, I didn't know what they were so I created names like Kissing Annette and Golden Glory. My mom would even wake in the middle of the night to help the ranch hands, who also lived on houses on the horse park property, deliver horse babies when the time had come. When it was time for us to move to my parents' new house, my mom was given one of the horses that she helped to birth in exchange for her promise that she would not race him. She named him Baron and he is a giant turkey. I smile just thinking about these times.

On the afternoon of May 20, the horse park took a direct hit. Three-quarters of the horses were killed, and all of the buildings on the horse park property, including the ranch house where we made our memories, were completely annihilated. Not a wall was left standing on that entire farm. My brother told me the story of a ranch hand who didn't even take cover; up until the time the tornado actually hit, he was running frantically from stall to stall, opening gates as quickly as possible, giving each horse a chance to escape doom. As the winds bore down, the giant stable collapsed. The ranch hand, whose name I don't know, amazingly survived with injury as he was buried in the rubble.

A few weeks after the tornado hit, I was relaying these tales to my best friend via text.  I told her about our wedding, the ranch house, our fun times, the devastation from the storm, the dead horses, and the story of the ranch hand. She asked me incredulously,
"How have you not told me about this part before now?"
I read her question aloud to BJ and we both vocalized roughly the exact same thought:
"Because...it was just one of a million things. We lost so much that day. It was only one of so many pieces lost, and where do you even start or finish?"

Thousands upon thousands of people in Moore, southwest Oklahoma City, and Newcastle have "pieces" from May 20. For them, it probably isn't the site where they got married, but it was something else plus something else plus something else, all adding up to one giant swirling loss that continues to be dealt with today. I daresay we'll carry these pieces forever, just as BJ suspected when I asked him how long it's going to hurt to drive through 4th and Telephone. We can't exactly forget a million things.

The Dropoff: Modern Day Wet Nurses

Keri and me:  a couple of modern-day wet nurses!

Today was the day!  Keri and I have been working hard, and now our hard work got to pay off.  She and I agreed to meet at OU Children's Hospital this morning to drop off our breast milk stores, and we scheduled a celebratory lunch afterwards.  I was definitely emotional about today; I found myself crying as we neared the hospital, the same one into which Kristen Smith walked with her baby Aiden all those months ago, and walked out four weeks later without him. He was the reason for all of this work, after all. It began with him, he has lived on in our efforts, and his life was not in vain. I cried again later when I posted a picture on Facebook of George and me handing over the milk, and then I cried again when I checked Facebook later and saw the outpouring of support from friends and strangers.  Having Keri there today was extremely important to me;  this decision has been meaningful for me all along, and Keri's addition has helped to make it fun as well. I was very much anticipating our trip to the hospital together with our three boys.

Before the boys and I left for the hospital today, I contacted the Lactation Center where we would be dropping off our milk.  A lady named Samantha kindly assured me over the phone that I could stay in the parking lot and she would come to get the milk so I wouldn't have to get out of the car.  For Milk Mama's like Keri and me though, staying in the parking lot would surely not work! We wanted to make the trek up to the lactation center, and we wanted to see where our milk was going. We wanted to put it in the freezer ourselves, and spend time talking to consultants who work with these babies.  Of course we got lost about six times on the way up to the lactation department, because that is always how things seem to work when you have two gallons of frozen breast milk, two babies, a toddler and a giant arm cast (not to mention a  somewhat disgruntled and misinformed hospital employee who is serving as the information booth attendant).  :)  The wonderful ladies of the Lactation Center were there to greet us when we did finally arrive however, and these included my dear high school friend Kellie whom I had not seen in years and who was spending the day working as a nurse on the unit. These ladies patiently answered our questions and were quite kind to tolerate our excitement on what must have been a routine day for them. It was clearly anything but for us.

  I couldn't believe that Kellie was there!  Never mind the blurriness of my inept phone.

Keri and I were able to see the breast milk storage room, and we got the satisfaction of seeing our milk go straight into the lovely freezers. We also got to meet with Keri's lactation consultant and ask questions to our hearts' content. And finally after having been greeted so warmly, we left with hearts full and arms empty. Keri donated a solid gallon, 128 ounces. She intends to donate more as she continues to pump for her son since she works full-time. I donated 116 ounces, which was 16 ounces higher than my original goal, but is now short of my final goal of a full gallon. Twelve ounces to go, and then I will call my body my own for a bit again before we try to have a third child. There is no doubt that I will donate milk again with the third child if I can, and this time for much longer. Can you tell that I am gladly embracing the role of a modern day wet nurse?

 George isn't sure about letting all of this go!

If this post can help others to consider the possibility of donating breast milk, time, money or anything that might be within their power to give to help critically ill babies, I would be grateful forever. Thank you, dearest family and friends, who encouraged me in this goal when I first set it in November.  You have truly blessed me. And while I have your attention, I will slip in a kind reminder that the CDC is now recommending pertussis boosters regularly, particularly for pregnant women, who are now encouraged to obtain the vaccination with every single pregnancy they have (article here). Much love to you all, and particularly to Aiden.

Pumping Along!

Hello!  I'm baaa-aack!  I didn't expect to be able to write a blog post again this quickly, but we decided that I could not do without being able to type on a computer at work for eight weeks, so we bought Dragon Speak.  Now I can dictate all of my reports at work, and as an added bonus I get to dictate my blog posts! Working in the healthcare field, I have spent time dictating progress notes and assessments before.  However, I haven't done it in a while and it does take some getting used to. It is easier for me to formulate my thoughts through typing rather than talking, but here goes...

If you are viewing this blog post through full web version,  please kindly slide your eyes over to the left and look at how many ounces of milk are ready to go to the milk bank! If you are viewing this site via mobile version,  I will tell you that the total is at about 90 ounces.  It seems as though it has been a long road to get to this point.  Firstly, as I noted in the last brief post, Silas and I both got a stomach bug and so I had to scrap quite a bit of milk from the total. More than once I might add.  Silas then proceeded to come down with the flu on Tuesday, but the milk bank told me that if I didn't catch the flu or run a fever, I did not have to scrap any of that milk. Fortunately, I have remained healthy and Silas quickly recovered from his flu episode. I also had to scrap a day's worth of milk immediately after I broke my hand, because I felt it necessary to take ibuprofen at one point for the pain. As you can imagine, ibuprofen is not allowed in the milk for these very delicate babies,  so I fed this milk to Georgie through his sippy cup. Perhaps that added immunity plus his flu shot kept him from getting the flu and stomach bug as well.  We are rolling right along now though with no illnesses and no medications, and I will have completed the minimum 100 ounce requirement within the next couple of days!  By the time I begin weaning myself off the pump in a few days, I will find that I have exceeded this minimum amount.  I just can't describe how exciting this is for me. To my friends who have sent their support, I thank you kindly.  You are the best of the best. And to my friend Keri, who is donating with me, I think I have no words. For once. :)

Sick Again!

This time I caught the stomach bug, so I have to scrap what I pumped yesterday. Total goes from 43 back down to 38 ounces...Not stopping though!

Update

Looks like my blogging is about to drop off significantly for the next month. In case you missed it on Facebook, I broke my left hand on Sunday and am going to be in a cast for a while. (Pistol Pete would be proud of my cast color choice though.) Typing with two hands is impossible, and right now I'm pecking this out with my right hand, which is taking forever! Never fear, though: my pumping for the milk bank will continue, and I will keep the 'ounces pumped' count updated on the blog for those who might be interested. Astute observers will notice that my count suddenly dropped from 33 to 28 ounces; this is because Silas contracted a stomach bug, which forced me to scrap eight ounces of milk. The milk bank is cautious of sick houses, understandably, so I had to un-tally all milk pumped in the 24 hours before he first vomited, and could not count anything that was pumped during the illness or in the first 24 hours after symptoms disappeared. We are in the clear now though, so I pumped three ounces today that I can count, bringing the new total from 25 to 28. Like I said, I will keep this number updated. Otherwise, you won't hear from me on this blog for a little while. Best wishes to you all over the next couple of weeks!

A Milk Donor

It has been no secret that baby Aiden Smith had a significant impact on me during his short life. If you're new to this blog or somehow missed the bajillion posts about him, you can read about his life and his battle with pertussis here and here. My love for this child did not end with his passing; instead, I have carried him with me in the forefront of my heart for the past six months. What I am finding in time is similar to what all kinds of people no doubt experience in the grief cycle, which is an eventual turning from inwardly-focused sorrow to an outwardly-focused promotion of legacy. This baby will not be forgotten by his friends and family, and he won't be forgotten by me either. In a sort of meandering search for ways in which to honor Aiden, I stumbled across an opportunity posted by my friend Keri on Facebook: the Oklahoma Mothers' Milk Bank. 

The OMMB is an organization with a mission of providing human breast milk to hospitalized critically-ill and premature babies. These particularly vulnerable little ones are often in dire need of breast milk as a means of survival, as they might be adversely impacted by other "nutritional methods" (i.e. formula). Each of these little babies is a deserving life, just like Aiden, only for many of them there is still a chance. And guess what? Much to my glee, I'm still a milk-producing mother, so I can be a donor! =)

The process of becoming a donor has been an involved one, with good reason. After all, these critically-ill babies are exposed to everything a donor has consumed. Once you pass a phone screen, in which you are asked about everything from countries in which you have lived, diseases you might have, and daily intakes of everything from coffee to herbs to prescription medicines, then you move on to the blood work (paid for by the milk bank) and the paperwork. The OMMB goes to some cost for all of this, especially the blood work, so they ask in return that you commit to a 100-ounce minimum donation of milk. Let the countdown begin!

The OMMB is a brand-new organization, and they will begin accepting milk donations (although they are certainly in need of financial donations currently) within the next couple of months. In the meantime, I am supposed to be dropping off my milk donations to the OU Health Sciences Center, where it is being pasteurized and then carefully shipped to the North Texas Milk Bank in the Dallas area. Not to worry, though: Oklahoma babies in need of milk draw from the North Texas Bank, so donating to there really means my milk can serve Oklahoma babies in need as well. Once the OMMB is officially up and running, my name will be transferred to the donor list there, and my donations will stay at the OUHSC.

My contact at the North Texas Milk Bank, a kind lady named Simone, told me that the ideal donor is a lactating mother with an over-abundant supply for her young infant. I would have been the ideal candidate with Silas! He and I pumped exclusively for six months, and I had such an over-abundant supply that I had milk stashed in four different freezers. This time is different, and my body doesn't seem to respond well to the pump these days, so I draw a lot less from that. With George I have only pumped on the days that I work and have only produced exactly what he needed, and thus I have no stored supply. As I am weaning him in the coming days (he turns one on January 18th), I plan to keep up my supply with pumping, and then donating all of the collected milk to the bank. Simone said there is a need for my milk, but not for long. Apparently, a mother's milk changes to fit her baby's nutritional needs, so the milk that I produce for my 11-month-old does not have the colostrum that a newborn needs; therefore, my milk is helpful for older babies who have become critically-ill, but within just a couple of short months, my milk won't be any good to them anymore. Crazy, huh? So pump I will! I have already begun, since George is nursing less than he used to; in addition, on days that I work I will donate everything I pump to the milk bank because George isn't taking a bottle from his caregivers anymore, and his intake of formula through a sippy is highly questionable at best. Although he drinks water from a sippy with ease, he tends to reject formula and breast milk from it, so I can't waste these precious ounces on George (I only work two days a week, so it isn't like he'll starve).

I am up to 15 saved ounces as of today. BJ has set up a cool little widget on the side of the blog, so if you're interested in following the countdown, it will be available for viewing. Thanks for letting me share this on the blog! Just one little way that I can honor sweet baby Aiden.