Of Bruised Butts and Egos
I've had ER visits for myself while on vacation in the past. I've had ER and Urgent Care visits for one particular daughter as well. I've been stung by jellyfish en masse while trying to windsurf (that was pre-blog). I've hurt my back while playing volleyball on the beach. But until today, I've never made a complete and total idiot out of myself. . .
Wait. . . I used to do karaoke while on vacation.
Ok, let me rephrase. I've never made a complete and total idiot out of myself while also injuring myself on vacation. . . until today.
We went to the aquarium this morning and the girls had a blast. After, we stopped at a restaurant for lunch. Located back on the bay and as part of a condo area, it's not ever busy and the food is always fantastic. We chose a table overlooking a marina and had a rather uneventful lunch.
Then Lil C started getting antsy. She was out of her chair and back in her chair. The chairs were very flimsy and light and I kept warning her to be careful. One wiggle in the wrong direction and she was going to knock the chair completely over. At one point, Mr. BBM tickled her a bit and she went flying backwards. I caught her by her nose and gave her two scratches on her face with my fingernail. I figured it was better than her landing on her head and knocking everything over. I think she agreed.
While we were waiting for our desserts, Lil C announced to the four occupied tables in the restaurant that she had to go to the bathroom. I took her and left my purse behind, hanging over the back of the chair. We returned to the table and Lil C was bouncing all over the place; and I was worried that she was going to knock her chair over or fall.
"Be careful Lil C. You're going to knock your chair over. Please just sit down. Your dessert is coming."
And then it happened. Apparently I have entirely too much crap in my purse because the weight of it knocked my chair backwards just as I was surrendering to taking a seat. There was no hesitation, not even a "whoops" moment as I had committed to the sit, didn't realize the chair was already on its way over, and I was going to go with it.
Mr. BBM says he looked at Lil C, heard a "woah!" come from me and looked up to find I wasn't there anymore. Instead I had taken a hard sit on the floor landing on my right butt cheek. My lower back had a brief, although painful, encounter with the jagged wooden edge of the seat of the chair on the way down and I landed in a heap of hurt.
A table of women behind me started having a fit, asking me if I was ok and telling me I needed a bag of ice. I gingerly rubbed my back and told them I think I needed a glass of wine instead. No one laughed (at least not at the time) because I think they were more concerned that I was hurt. It caused quite a bit of commotion. Truth be told, my butt was throbbing and my back was killing me. I lifted up the back of my shirt and asked Big I if I was bleeding. She said "yes" and I went off to look at the damage in the bathroom. There was no blood on the surface. It was all underneath, a three inch long by one inch wide mark on my spine that was already painful to touch. We won't even discuss my butt. I'm just glad I landed on one cheek and not my tailbone.
Our waitress delivered my coconut cream pie with a ganache bottom on it just as I was reestablishing myself in my chair.
"Here" she said, "this will make it better."
I came home, fell asleep on the beach in my chair and woke up in a world of pain. My whole spine hurts and my neck is all messed up too. And man does my butt hurt. I can't imagine tomorrow is going to feel good.
I've spent the entire week swearing off tennis, refusing to play in the waves, and being super careful about not walking into a ditch in the sand while on the beach. This just goes to show that if the universe has it out for it, it's going to get you, one way or another.
If you're not afraid to make an idiot out of yourself for public consumption, then consider entering the Summer Serenade contest! It's simple. Lip sync or actually sing a song, record yourself and send the video to me. See details and participants on the Summer Serenade page in the sidebar!
Aution Ho!
Last night I convinced my parents to join us for a hibachi dinner. Our chef was hysterical. I think he said "Oh My God" and WasaBAY-BEE about 4000 times during our dinner. He also pelted my Mom in the head with carrots and peas. His aim was a little off. He also told my parents, who ordered well done steaks, that their dinner would be ready sometime tomorrow.
He called all of us "sweety-hearts" as he put our food on our plates and then would say "love you long time" and crack himself up laughing. No one really got it except for me. If you're a regular reader here, then you know about my rap music obsession. I have a strong appreciation for old school stuff. He also said I was a beautiful girl (using the tone from the Pharell/Snoop Dog song) and that Mr. BBM is a lucky man about 200 times. Clearly, I liked him a lot.
Despite how hysterically funny he was, the best moment of the night came before he arrived at our table. Big I was reaching out toward the cooking surface and we told her it was very hot and to keep her hands back.
"How do you know?" she asked.
Without missing a beat, Mr. BBM said, "Because it says 'aution ho!' right there."
Big I looked at him funny and asked what that meant.
Meanwhile, for 5 seconds after he said it and before I realized what had happened, I was thinking to myself, "Ah, 'aution ho' must be Japanese for 'Caution hot." Hmm, interesting. You learn something new every day."
And then I realized that the "c" and the "t" had just worn off. Japanese it was not.
We all spent the rest of the night telling each other "aution HO!" with emphasis on the second part, obviously. It seemed to fit well with our rap-song-singing chef.
Kata on the Beach
This morning I woke up early and it was overcast outside. The beach was deserted and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get outside and run through some kata. I lugged my kobudo weapons and my Mom down to the beach and set up near the dunes so as to limit the view of me from the beach houses.
I ran through my kobudo katas first. Doing kata on the beach was a bit challenging. Without the mirror in front of me and the shinza to the left, it felt different. It was a good test as to whether or not I know my stuff, and thankfully I do.
Doing kata on the beach felt really good. The wind was whipping around and I think my favorite beach kata had to be nunchaku. With the breeze blowing, they seemed to fly extra well through the air. With the sound of the waves crashing nearby, I was able to work on my breathing too.
I ran through all the open hand kata as well and made it through without forgetting anything.
Then I thought I'd have some fun. During the kata Kyan No Sai, there's a part where you go on guard and then step out with the right foot and throw the sai in your right hand, presumably into the foot of an oncoming attacker. It's obviously not possible to do the throw for real in the dojo, but at the beach it's a different story.
I drew myself a little circle in the sand and stood back. I wanted to see if I could hit my target. I hit it every time, but there was a problem. The sai wasn't going in point first and staying that way. Instead it was hitting point first and then quickly flipping over. Sometimes, the sai would end up completely covered in the sand.
I decided to experiment. I moved a little closer figuring these are short range weapons and found the trick. I was definitely too far away from the circle/attacker. By moving in a bit closer and concentrating more on technique and less on power, the sai went in blade first. It was a near perfect stick. The other interesting thing is that when the point went in first, it went in and then sort of rocked back a bit. One can imagine the damage it would do to a foot if it hit and then continued the rotational movement which would rip things apart easily. I realized why this move is near the end of the kata.
I revealed my revelations to my Mom, a registered nurse, who sat there squirming as I talked about it. I find this stuff so fascinating. It's not the gruesome part so much as it is the technique and getting it right that intrigues me. I'm thinking our dojo should put a sand box in somewhere. How cool would that be?
Mermaids, Castles, and Beer Pong
At 4:30 a.m. on Saturday morning, my family and I set out for our beach week. The drive was fairly uneventful. There was one necessary stop at a shady bathroom where Lil C spent the entire time questioning me as to why I was using toilet paper to line the seat before I allowed her to sit (Yes, sometimes, I temporarily turn into my grandmother and I'm cool with that). There were also people lined up before 9 a.m. to buy malt liquor in the store (Apparently they start early in those parts). We arrived here on the Outer Banks around noon and were able to get into our beach house earlier than usual. That's always a good thing, especially when you only get about three hours of sleep the night before.
We spent Saturday afternoon unloading the cars and settling in to the beach house. This year, we're oceanfront and we're enjoying that immensely. Yesterday, although it was cloudy much of the day and very windy, we spent the day on the beach and I wasted no time getting to work.
This year, the girls ordered a sculpted mermaid and the biggest sandcastle yet (pictures forthcoming, as soon as Mr. BBM gets his act together).
Mr. BBM made me a pile for the castle the size of a manatee, and I spent my afternoon sculpting from the top down. My dad and I decided that I need a mist bottle. These aren't your ordinary sandcastles anymore. This morning, the sculpture of the mermaid and the castle are still there and are being used as a photo backdrop for many a vacationer's picture. Big I was anxiously awaiting going down to the beach so that she could claim ownership and tell people that she helped; then my Dad broke it to her that our mermaid had been given some "plastic surgery." Two boobs turned into just one. Fantastic, and no, I don't have a picture of the new and improved.
The girls are having a great time, although Lil C has absolutely no fear which can be a bit terrifying for a parent. She's been a little cranky lately and a visit to Urgent Care this morning confirmed that she has a sinus infection. She's on antibiotics but that hasn't stopped her ornary need to sit on every sandcastle that exists on the beach.
Last night I suggested that my parents learn how to play beer pong and to our complete surprise, they agreed that it sounded like fun. We drove several miles up the beach to the K-mart so we could buy ping-pong balls. We're getting the cups today. Last night we realized we didn't have any good beer pong quality cups to play with so the game was postponed to tonight. My Dad woke up at 5 a.m. today so I'm figuring that by this evening his aim will be off and I'll be grand-champion.
Many years ago, I came home with a 4.0 GPA and my Mom was thrilled. My parents broke out a couple bottles of champagne and we drank it while playing Scrabble. At one point, my Mom announced that she was "stoned." She meant buzzed, but used the wrong word and we've never let her live it down. I'm thinking tonight, she'll be a bit stoned if the game goes on as planned.
“Hold the Drugs Please”-Discovery Health Baby Week
On Sunday June 14th, Discovery Health's Baby Week premieres. For birth story junkies like me, you won't want to miss it. You can find out more about Baby Week on Discovery Health's website. There are several brand new episodes with unique themes. Personally, I'm looking forward to the Births Beyond Belief episode. I'll live vicariously through them.
Twins by Surprise-Sunday June 14th at 8 p.m. EST
Little Parents, Big Pregnancy-Monday June 15th at 8 p.m.
Births Beyond Belief-Tuesday June 16th at 8 p.m.
Obese & Pregnant-Wednesday June 17th at 8 p.m.
For a preview of the episodes, you can view this video.
If you miss the premiere, Discovery Health will have the shows replay later in the night. As part of Baby Week, I'm republishing Lil C's birth story. Even if you're not a birth story junkie, you'll find humor, drooling (yes, I said drooling and it wasn't even the baby), and a story of an unmedicated delivery.
Enjoy. . . .
The Birth of Lil C
It was the evening of October 2, 2005, the night before my due date. I had finally given up hope of going into labor on my own. After a pregnancy of finger sticks, a strict diet, and oral medication to control gestational diabetes, it was now time to face the fact that I was going to be induced with this pregnancy too. I had envisioned a birth center birth: no needles, no hospitals, no interference. Just me, my husband, my midwife and eventually a healthy baby. The gestational diabetes brought with it all kinds of unwelcome intervention in the form of twice weekly non-stress tests, ultrasounds, and a ton more appointments than just my visits to the midwife, all resulting in a scheduled induction on my due date. "At least I know when I'm having this baby so I can have plans for my older daughter," I told myself. I went to bed for the night, knowing full well that I would not get much sleep.
I checked into the hospital at 8 a.m. on Monday, October 3rd with all intentions of having this baby by lunch time. The second time around was supposed to be easier, faster, right? I had made plans with my Mom to bring my other daughter to the hospital in the afternoon. After being hooked up to the monitors, it was clear that there was no labor going on by itself. Instead of pitocin (which I had with my first labor), my midwife opted for miso (misoprostol). After the nurses inserted a port into my arm (no I.V. though, thankfully), and everything was ready to go, my midwife arrived. At 9:45 a.m., my midwife inserted the miso which goes "where the sun don't shine," if you know what I mean. I started contracting once an hour. I was 1.5 cm dilated, 60% effaced and the baby was at -1 station. Not bad, I thought. After four hours of continuous monitoring which only allowed me to get up to go to the bathroom, I was finally able to get up and move around. (With miso they require several hours of monitoring because labor can progress extremely fast. They need to make sure that the baby is not under any stress.)
The reprieve from the bed was a welcome one and my husband and I began to walk the halls. There were only a handful of women in labor at the time so the halls were empty. All the other Moms had drugs and were therefore confined to their rooms. We did laps for 45 minutes, with me trying to retain my modesty as much as one can while wearing a hospital gown, and with cords from the monitor straps around my belly wrapped around my neck. After 45 minutes of walking, I was required to be hooked up to the monitors for 15 minutes of fetal monitoring. My contractions were now coming every 3-5 minutes. They weren't a big deal though. They were just a tightening that wasn't painful; and I did not have to breathe through them. I remembered from childbirth classes five years before that you shouldn't start with the breathing until you absolutely have to in order to keep from getting too exhausted. We went on like that: 45 minutes of walking, 15 minutes of monitoring for several hours, until about 3 or 4 p.m.
A resident came in to check me at this point. During my first birth, it felt like even the janitor was getting some action, because they were checking me constantly. My midwife made sure that unnecessary checks were eliminated. But, my midwife was at the birth center and needed to know where I was. By this point, my husband and I had probably walked miles up and down the hospital halls. The resident said I was 3 cm, 80% effaced, and the baby was at -1 station. I would by lying if I didn't say that I was EXTREMELY disappointed with this news. I was hoping for a big jump. This labor was progressing like my first and it was frustrating. My midwife was going to start pitocin, but she was happy with the progress I made and content to let me keep walking and laboring on my own. For that, I was thankful.
Instead of a dinner time visit from my family so they could greet the new baby, my dad arrived with sandwiches for later in the night. I was able to eat only things like jello and broth, just in case of problems, so I knew I was going to be hungry. I didn't want to have the baby in the middle of the night and be stuck without something good. I was a gestational diabetic and I was ready for a good meal that involved no carb counting.
A little after 5 p.m., my midwife arrived back at the hospital and checked me. Apparently I had a generous resident, because my midwife said I was only 2.5 cm. and 75% effaced. She said it was either break my water or start pitocin. I chose to have my water broken. I wanted NOTHING to do with pitocin. One birth experience with that drug was plenty.
Instantly, my contractions went from minor annoyances to hurting bad enough that I had no choice but to breathe through them. My husband and I started walking again. The contractions were now coming every 2-5 minutes and they hurt and badly. I had to stop walking and hold on to the hallway railing for each one. I felt like my stomach was being twisted. During one particular contraction as I leaned against the railing with both hands, head down, I was having issues with too much saliva and I actually drooled onto the floor. My husband and I got hysterical. Try hysterically laughing while trying to breathe through a wicked contraction. . . not easy at all.
By 7:30 p.m. I could no longer walk through the contractions and opted to sit straight up in bed instead. I could not get comfortable. I tried several different positions and all of them were miserable. I knew if I stayed upright, I'd have this baby faster. I needed the pain to stop so I stayed upright despite the pain. I wanted to get it over with. My midwife checked me and I was 5 cm, 80% effaced and the baby was at 0 station. It was around 9 p.m. It would be the last time that I was checked. I knew I still had a long way to go.
During each contraction, I went to Nags Head in my mind and sat deep breathing on the beach. In between contractions I dozed off as much as I could. I was in such a zone. I did not want any distractions and the midwife made sure I didn't have any. The room was kept quiet; the lights were kept dim. My midwife and nurse were wonderful through the next few hours. They kept checking on me to make sure I was o.k. They would bring me hot water bottles that I would use for 30 seconds and then throw to the end of the bed because I was too hot. Two seconds later, I'd be telling them to position it behind my back again. They did whatever I needed. They were continually encouraging.
My midwife would sit quietly on the end of the bed, place her hand on my leg and speak so softly, telling me I was doing great, keep breathing. I think she was very calming for my husband as well.
Around 12:30 a.m., my midwife asked me if I had been to the bathroom lately and if I felt like pushing. I told her that I felt pressure, but not the urge to push. I told my husband later that at this point, (and I know this sounds silly) I only felt like getting up and running away from the pain. The contractions barely gave me a break and they were intense. Even though I said I didn't have to go, my midwife, husband and nurse helped me out of bed and sent me off towards the bathroom. I toughed out a wicked contraction while holding onto the sink. When I came out of the bathroom, my midwife suggested I lie down to relieve some of the pressure I was feeling. I was discouraged when she said this and thought she was telling me to lie down because the baby was still hours away from making her appearance. I figured I had better listen to her and lie down to conserve energy. I didn't know then that my midwife had been reading all the signs and knew that the final phase of labor was just around the corner.
It only took one contraction and it was very clear I had to push. My midwife, without checking me, without turning on any lights, without making a big ordeal of it, simply told me to go ahead and push. So, lying on my right side, with my nurse and husband barely holding up my left leg that felt to me like it was about 5000 lbs, I pushed. My midwife checked and the baby's head was already coming down. She said she saw a head full of dark hair and my husband and I looked at each other in shock. Our first was a baldy. We weren't exactly expecting hair. The lights were kept low and the nurses getting the room ready for the baby were quiet. I, on the other hand, was not.
I remember reading something somewhere about childbirth and that making noise actually helps with the pushing. It releases tension and helps the baby come down, or something like that. It wasn't like I made a conscious decision to be loud; it just happened and at one point I heard one of the nurses tell another one to close the door.
I pushed when I wanted and as hard as I wanted. I really concentrated on trying to go slowly, and no one told me to push, or pant or gave me any instructions. There was no counting or holding my breathe. It was very relaxed and very much at my own pace. After a couple pushes, my midwife told me to reach down and feel my baby's head. Her head felt wet and I was shocked to feel so much hair on her head. The first inch of her head was out and I held her there with a steady push, not wanting her to slip back. Three more pushes and her head was out completely. I did it on my own and gradually, without an episiotomy like with my first.
The midwife suctioned her nose and mouth and I was relieved to be rid of the ring of fire. It did burn, but not as bad as I had thought it would. I pushed a tiny bit and her shoulders came out. My baby was born with a fist clenched underneath her chin (she had probably been sucking on her fingers like in all the ultrasound pictures, right up until the big squeeze). My midwife told me to reach down and grab my baby. I reached down with one arm and the midwife giggled a bit and told me I'd need two. I was just so tired. I reached down with both arms and grabbed her under her arms and pulled her the rest of the way out onto my stomach. It was 1:05 a.m. on October 4th and my sweet baby girl was born. She had held out one day past her due date. No baby of mine would ever choose to be on time.
She was just so amazing, so bright-eyed and just staring right up at me. It was an absolutely amazing experience to pull her out on my own. The midwife left her on my belly for a while, and didn't cut the cord right away. She was just beautiful, with a ton of dark hair (so shocking as my first was a baldy). Unlike my first, she was covered in vernix. I knew right away that she was a tiny baby, compared to her sister. My first words when I saw her were, "Oh My God, she's so tiny."
Eventually, the nurse took her and weighed her. They did let me hold her while they put the drops in her eyes. The entire time, she stared at me. We had an instant connection, me and this baby that had taken 14 months to conceive. Me and this baby that had put me through four finger sticks a day, twice weekly non-stress tests, and side effects from the glyburide that I was prescribed. When they hit the conversion button on the scale, I couldn't believe it. Despite the fact that a growth scan had said she would be 9-10 lbs., my baby was only 7 lbs. 10 oz., a mere 3 oz. less than the weight I had guessed she would be and had told my midwife as she had broken my water.
My midwife checked out the damage while they swaddled my daughter and tried to clean her up a bit. I had only three minor tears, none requiring stitches. My midwife assured me they would heal within a day or two and she was right.
Despite the gestational diabetes and having my birth plan turned upside down, this birth experience was amazingly relaxed. I did not have to have an I.V.; I had no drugs beside the initial miso to get labor going, and my daughter came out with a perfectly shaped head. She was just beautiful.
Despite being exhausted from a 15 hour labor and 20 minutes of pushing, I could not sleep. I sat in bed, cradling my baby daughter and just taking in everything about her. I peeled back her hat to stare at the unbelievable head of hair; I stroked her cheek that felt like warm velvet. I stared at her and felt so blessed that she was finally here and healthy.
My labor and delivery nurse moved me to my post-partum room in a wheelchair, but I felt more like a rock star arriving at a concert. The post-partum nurses were waiting in the room, and my l & d nurse delivered me amid a wave of praise for laboring without any drugs. It was the first labor and delivery she had been a part of that didn't involve pain-relieving drugs and she was "psyched" to have been a part of it, she said. She thanked me for the experience of it all; and I had to agree that the experience had been pretty amazing. After settling in my post-partum room, my husband fell fast asleep but I simply couldn't. When they took my baby to give her a bath, I ate my entire italian sandwich instead of sleeping. I waited until around 8 a.m. to start calling everyone and giving them the good news (Of course, my parents and daughter got the call at 1:15 a.m.). Later in the day, my mom brought my older daughter in to meet her new baby sister. The meeting went very well.
My midwife came to check on me and said I could go home right away. At 5 p.m. on the same day I gave birth, I took my new baby home. From start to finish, it was one amazing birth day.
"Black Belt Mama" lives in the northeast and is a stay-at-home/work-at-home mother to her two daughters, "Big I" who is 8 and "Lil C" who is now 3 years old. She writes on her blogs, Black Belt Mama and The BBM Review. She is also the editor of the Birth Story blog. You can read her first birth story by clicking here and read birth stories from mothers with many different experiences on the Birth Story blog (You can even submit your own to be published on the site!). To subscribe to this blog, click here.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
