Vegan Baby: Weeks Three-Four. "Home Life"

  Well, we're home. The day we waited for did arrive, and after a mere nineteen days in the NICU. Those nineteen days felt like a gazillion.

  Before, I lived in a blur of pumping, driving, and supervised kangaroo care. Now, I live in the blur of real life parenthood. In this world, one doesn't sleep or know what time it is or take showers before three pm. I feel like I wear the same oversized shirt--touting the fun of forbidden books--and leggings with holes in the seams that I think may be growing larger. Who knows and who cares? I wonder if I'll ever wear fashionable clothes or mascara again. Maybe. One day.

  The above paragraph may look like a complaint--no, I'm just stating the facts. Parenthood/motherhood is not an easy feat, but that's okay--it's also completely and wonderfully amazing. Take today, for example. I found success in wrapping Tallulah in the Moby, without the struggle I was having before. Something so simple became something so profound. I guess that's what motherhood is like? That's my newbie guess.

  This post is supposed to document last week and the beginning of this week (where Tallulah turns four weeks old!). I can't organize things well in my mind at the moment (again, that's what motherhood aka four hours of sleep divided into restless chunks will do). But, here are some bullet points.

Week Three:

• Pandora and Gustav met their sister, finally! I couldn't wait to get the most precious photos of them with her. I did get those, but I also got a more aloof Pandora and a Gustav who has another reason to bark. It's all right--life has become a work in progress. 
• I am so thankful that Eric doesn't believe in outdated gender roles, i.e. he doesn't leave all baby duties for me. I also became a little more thankful of pumping--well, except at two in the morning when I had to feed and then pump--but, pumping has given Eric the opportunity to feed Tallulah, and even give me the occasional night to sleep. Although, I've now become an even lighter sleeper, always on the listen-out for distressed baby sounds. I should have relished sleep during bed rest, instead of stressing out about what needed to be done. 
• I can no longer keep track of time. I'll pass by a clock, note the time, do baby stuff, maybe get a quick snack--and it's suddenly two hours later. How does that happen? And how have I still not taken a shower?
• I need to accept the advice of sleep when baby does and stop trying to be your former self at full force, for now. Honestly, I sometimes panic that I'll never get to work on my novel. That I'll never want to. What about my MFA applications--what if I wait one more year? There goes my mind again--Tallulah's eyes are shut, and mine probably should be, too. 
• Tallulah had her first pediatrician appointment. They, too, want her breastmilk fortified with milk-based formula and want her taking some generic, nasty vitamin. Now, this pediatrician was found through searching natural databases. Then why do they still push all this GMO-filled, chemically based crap? And it's impossible to get a completely straight answer. They basically say that we are able to choose our own path, but then scare you with the "necessity" of these things. I tried to research other vegan preemies--but couldn't find any information. Luckily,  friend of mine had her daughter at 32 weeks also. She has been a great resource!

    We are barely in Week Four, so I don't even know what the bullet points of this week would be. This week's focus is teaching Tallulah the difference between night and day--one way we have been doing this is with daily walks. It's nice to feel fresh air again and I even feel moments of inspiration. I can't wait to write again, to have the motivation to write again. Maybe I should just force myself to do it--I mean, I can work the Moby now. I should be able to do anything.

 

  See you in Week Five, where I hear the "real" smiles start happening. 

Vegan Baby: Weeks One-Three: Life in the NICU

  Life has become a blur of pump sessions, documenting milk produced, driving on a rigid schedule, and the horrible beeping of baritone alarms. I don't know if I can pinpoint where September 22nd ended and today begins. I hear that when you have a new baby, life becomes like that--but my situation is different. I'm not sleep-deprived at home in the same pajamas every day, a swaddled baby in my tired arms. I'm a NICU parent, which has its own definition of parenthood and newborns.

  NICU parenthood is devastating. Your baby is ripped away and hooked up to sterile machines, while you're left alone in a silent, cold hospital room. A nurse shows you how to clean your birthing wounds and hooks you up to a breast pump. It's all so mechanical. Eventually, you meet your fragile baby. Your baby whose vitals are beeping and displayed on flatscreen computers. Your baby that you have to ask permission to touch. They shove a tube down your baby's throat, dropping the meager drops of colostrum directly into your baby's tiny stomach. The nurses inform you that they may need to supplement with formula until your milk comes in--dairy formula. Dairy? But you are vegan; you are raising your child vegan! They look at you like you're a monster--preemies need dairy formula, they say. You pump with a newfound vigor.

  Several babies are in a more serious condition than my child. Some only weigh a little over a pound--which I compare in my head. The rats I used to have weighed a pound, and they were so small. Some NICU babies are hooked up to all sorts of wires and monitors. How do those parents handle it? I broke down the moment I saw Tallulah with an IV and the sensor wrapped around her tiny foot, detecting the level of oxygen coursing through her. I wanted her to be with me, but that's not how it is with premature babies.

  This goes on for nineteen days. Tallulah has to learn to eat, and we have to learn to feed her. To watch out for blue lips and quick gulps that could affect her vitals. We have to learn to ignore the machines beeping and just look at her for cues. We have to learn to be parents in the organic sense--the sense that we had wanted from day one. She has to grow, too. She impresses doctors with her advances, both with taking a bottle filled with pumped milk and with her ability to act like an average baby. There are setbacks--the tube has to be forced down her throat for a few more feedings. I cry again, even when they say that it doesn't bother them. Tallulah ends up in a hospital crib before she reaches the four pound mark. We are able to bring her clothes, miniature onesies for the tiniest of babies.
                                               

  Then, one day, they say you are going home. It's been leading up to this. We have brought in our carseat and she eats well, sometimes too well. There's no notice, because once the doctors deem your child ready they contact the insurance company--and they want your baby out immediately; they don't want to pay for thriving babies. In a whirlwind, we make the arrangements for rooming in. Eric has to miss a day of work and rush home halfway through our room-in session to let Gustav out to use the bathroom. That's not a mess you want to bring a new baby home to.

  We bundle her up, strap her into the carseat, and walk slowly through the hospital corridors. Another set of NICU parents points to us, leans their heads in to whisper furiously.

  "They are going home. Look, they are going home."    

  It takes all of my composure muscles to not break down. Not in the waiting area. Not while we drive away. Instead, I turn my focus to Tallulah and make sure her head is up--so that she may breathe easily on the ride to her home.

     

Veganism and Prematurity

This is the shortest post ever. The topic didn't exactly fit elsewhere, and it needs to be addressed. More than once, I've been asked if my vegan diet contributed to Tallulah's early arrival. No, it did not. I knew that it didn't and I mentioned this outside concern to my completely conventional doctor--even she said that it was in no way a factor. Sometimes babies are just born prematurely. What could have contributed was working a job where I stand for eight hours, the stress of moving, my feeling the need to finish and accomplish everything quickly, and a possibly weak cervix. None of these are related to a compassionate diet.

My vegan diet did play a part in my pregnancy, and hopefully in Tallulah's speedy trip home. Remember my last panel of blood work, and how stellar it was? After giving birth, I was only sore for about a day and then was already ready to take Gustav on a ten mile walk and finish unpacking--I didn't, because I'm trying to reserve energy and make sure my body does heal completely. I think my healthy state contributed to bouncing back. I also think that Tallulah's homecoming process will be better because of all of the nutrients she will be receiving from my vegan breastmilk.

So, does a vegan diet contribute to a preemie baby? Absolutely not. It can, however, make for a healthier preemie that grows up to love all walks of life and to eat her veggies.

Week 32: My unexpected birth story

   Going on bed rest in my 31st week definitely changed my perception of the pregnancy journey. I now had to deal with the possibility of not being able to return to work and losing maternity leave to bed time, as opposed to baby time. Would I have to be completely immobile for two months, halting the unpacking and settling into the new house and hindering last minute baby preparations? I had an appointment with my doctor on the 19th, where we would determine some part of the future. She checked my cervix and found it to still only be dilated to a one and the baby's head still extremely low. Our plan for the future was for me to return to work with limited hours and restricted duties.

   I never made it back to work.

   Eric and I utilized that weekend to see a movie, pick up things at Home Depot, and still do quite a bit of relaxing--I didn't want to over-do it. Apparently, it didn't matter what I did; my baby wanted to arrive ahead of schedule.

  Sunday evening, I had intended to go to an art supply store to pick up crafting supplies for the nursery. I didn't go and had a strange stomach ache. This was about seven in the evening. I ate red beans and rice and curled up to watch The Help. The pain wasn't exactly intense, but it wasn't going away. I dealt with it and tried to go to sleep.

  I couldn't sleep. This mysterious cramp in my stomach was getting worse and not going away. I went to the bathroom and saw that I was spotting. An awful feeling crept up--something was wrong. Had I done too much this weekend? I called the on-call doctor, who informed me that the spotting could just be the result of my cervical exam two days before. "Just keep an eye on it," she said, without a drop of concern to her voice. I would watch it, but my intuition told me it was something more even if I didn't really want to believe it.

  We started to time these pains. Eric said that he was concerned that they were contractions. "Remember the class? How they said it could feel like gas pains?" I remembered that, but I also remembered that they were supposed to feel like a squeezing, a menstrual cramp--and that you were supposed to see your stomach moving. None of that was happening. Still, it was painful. I knew I wasn't going to sleep, and so I told a bath instead and it did help my pain--sort of. It was still there and now we were finding that the pain was coming and going every twelve minutes. Indigestion doesn't do that.

  I called the doctor again and they told me to come down to the hospital. I kissed Pandora's sleeping cheek--I had a feeling that something was going to be different the next time I saw her. Gustav watched me with weary eyes. In my vision of birth, I had imagined a perfectly packed suitcase. I was going to have a labor playlist, massage tools, and my own nightgown. We didn't bring any of these because we weren't prepared to do this so soon.

  At the hospital, they found my cervix now at a three. My "contractions" were not registering on the monitor, again confusing me to believe that maybe something else was happening. The nurses shot that down. They may not see the contractions on the screen or feel them with their hands, but they saw me wincing with pain and my cervix changing. They were absolutely contractions. Doctor's orders: stop them.

   They gave me orange pills, muscle relaxers, to try to stop them. Now, I haven't even taken a Tylenol during this pregnancy. I was extremely cautious, even with supplements--and I definitely don't do "medicine." Although, at this point, I just didn't want to have my baby arrive before she was ready. I didn't want to see her hooked up to tubes and machines. So, I took the pills--and the contractions continued. I already had an IV jabbed into my vein, they were dropping "nutrients" into my body and I wasn't allowed food. They added magnesium to my IV regimen. IVs were not part of my birth plan. Nothing that was happening was part of my birth plan. I was starving, concerned, wondering if I should contact my doula at three o'clock in the morning. I didn't want to be restriction, my arms getting tangled in IVs and wires. I wanted birth tubs, chosen songs, and a relaxing environment.  Not this.

  The magnesium didn't stop the contractions, either. The nurses offered an epidural.

  "You're having this baby today."

  I refused the epidural. Nothing was going as planned--that was the one thing I could still control. I could still have my natural childbirth. Well, as natural as it could be with IVs and pills and being forbidden food. I did find out why food is recommended. At some point during the labor, I can't really remember when, I threw up all of my dinner and snacks. It was the most violent retching I can recall. Eric held a trash can below my open mouth, while I lost red beans and rice and jalapeño jelly mixed with tofutti. I would not have eaten those things if I knew I was going to be laboring or puking.

  Most of the labor is jumbled in my mind. I remember the clock changing quickly. Time went by so fast, even when each contraction seemed to last so long. The contractions never felt like what I had imagined. I refused an epidural several times. The nurses were shocked that anyone would refuse it. At the end of my labor, I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. I considered pain medication at one point, and asked when would be too late. They told me it was already too late. I didn't really want it, but at some point the pain becomes so intense and forceful that I doubted myself. Could I handle this daunting task of delivering a human being? Especially when I didn't expect it so early?

  During this time, Eric was the best support person I could have hoped for. He massaged my lower back and head, even without the planned massage tools. I looked up once, towards the end, and saw his own eyes brimming with tears. He removed my bedpan, right before my water broke--a strange sensation of a balloon swelling and then exploding from beneath me. That was when it became real for him. They told me not to push. I felt--now remember birth is not pretty--like I was going to have to poop. That was my worst fear about the labor process--pooping all over the delivery table. That feeling was a baby, pushing her way into the world. It took a total of two pushes.

  Two huge bright lights were blinding me. There were faces swarming. Nurses, my doctor, NICU representatives explaining what life would be like with my baby taken away from me. They were ordering me not to push, not to do this. Then:

  "Look at your baby."

  There was this grey wiggling person, still attached to me via the umbilical cord that they quickly clamped and removed. Strangers picked her up and checked her vitals. Eric alternated taking photos with my phone and our nicer camera. Someone--a nurse?--brought her to me--wrapped in a blanket and topped with a tiny beanie. Her eyes were closed and she had the most perfect face I had ever seen--but I didn't cry, like I had expected. I still didn't believe what had just happened.

  She, Tallulah, was seven weeks and two days early. Our house wasn't unpacked. Our doula wasn't there. We didn't have a strategically packed suitcase. I didn't get my post-birth skin to skin. My baby was taken away and put in a different corner of the hospital.

  It was incredibly difficult. It still is. I'm thankful that Tallulah is healthy. I'll be even more thankful when she is ready to come home.