I'm worth it

I started this journey* knowing that it wasn’t easy…knowing that its never going to end, I’m either going to be losing weight or maintaining the weight I’ve lost..and knowing (deeply knowing)  that at the crux of it all, I’m worth it. I’m 11 weeks in, and I’m at the point where I really needed to sit down and give myself a pep talk, so here it is.

I’m worth it because I tell Irelyn all the time that Trepesowsky Girls aren’t quitters. I’m not a quitter. I know that I’m NOT a quitter. If I want something I go after it and yet with my obesity I’ve always focused on the number on the scale and its seemed like such a daunting and insurmountable mountain to climb…I’m worth it because the size of the problem isn’t intimidating anymore.

I’m worth it because there’s a difference between acceptance and happiness. I am a huge advocate for treating a person as a person, regardless of their size, but acceptance does not equal happiness. I’m not happy being this heavy. I’m worth it because I matter, my happiness is paramount to all else.

I’m worth it because I don’t want to feel different anymore. I want to wear high heels and not worry about my ankles. I want board an airplane and not worry about being embarrassed while on a work trip that I’m going to need to buy two seats.  I want to have more clothing (and store options). Its scary when even Lane Bryant doesn’t carry your clothing size anymore.

I’m worth it because the world isn’t made for fat people. I’m worth it because my size is abnormal.

I’m worth it because I know whats inside, I know who I am and I’m beyond tired of being passed up or stereotyped by my size.

I’m worth it because I want to fully live. I want to play with my children and not be winded. I want to grow old and be a grandma with grandchildren on my lap laughing and telling stories. I want to spend more time in the sunshine, not hiding in the shadows…

*Can I just say that I hate the term "journey", only I can't seem to find a word that means the same thing...ggrargh!

Still Here...

I'm still here! I'm still plugging along! I haven't posted in the last month because I detested the netbook I had (which was new). It was slow and a pain to actually use. My dear hubby sold my old netbook, the new netbook and then added some funds and bought me a new laptop. I adore my ipad, but its not blog user friendly. So, the new laptop arrived today!!

1 Month In

Today is my one month anniversary with Weight Watchers. On one hand I'm surprised that I've stuck with it, but on the other hand I'm not surprised in the least. I've hit my rock bottom and I never EVER want to see the scale go up. I've been at my highest and the only place to go is down.

So anyways...I've had a good week. As usual my biggest obstacle was myself. See, we have a scale in the bathroom and every day I've weigh myself. Sometimes I weigh myself as much as four times in a day! Really, what does this accomplish? Nothing. I know its natural for a person's weight to fluctuate a few pounds, but knowing this doesn't stop the negative thoughts of self doubt from creeping in and wrecking havoc. After seeing the scale at a complete stand still and then began to trend upwards I finally realized that I desperately need to STOP stepping on that damn scale! 

I'm a product of my generation and whether I own up to it or not, I want (and would love) immediate results. Rationally I know the fat isn't going to melt away magically....but, the easiest measurable way to “success” is by seeing the decreasing numbers on the scale, right?? I crunch numbers daily at work. I analyze trends in values and can quickly break down number fluctuations into some sort of usable statistical data. I want to be able to do the same thing with my weight loss....and I can't. Sure, I get the concept of “a calorie in, a calorie out”. I know how weight loss happens, but sheesh I would love for everything to be easy and completely exact! 

As I laid in bed last night I thought about Sunday's weigh in and I began stressing about it. I asked myself the simple question, “Is there anything I could've done better this week?” And other than a few slight things, I can honestly say no. I've had a damn good week! So what if the scale wasn't showing me what I wanted, I still had plenty of stuff to be proud of and instead of counting sheep, I laid in bed and counted off my successes for the week. I endured an unexpected lunch out with an underwriter at a restaurant that lacked available nutritional information. I attended my daughter's nursery school dinner and auction and bypassed the bread, limited the pasta and stole my husband's last piece of broccoli! I went out with friends last night and rather than drink myself into oblivion, I budgeted myself two drinks, paced myself and genuinely enjoyed my friends. At the end of my one sided self conversation, my mood improved and I felt much better. As I drifted to sleep I realized there is more to this battle then just the scale.

Staying out late and dealing with the time change was difficult this morning. After only about 4 hours of sleep it was trying to get up and out of bed to make it to my weekly 8am meeting. I looked like crap with my frizzy hair and messy day old make up. I washed my face, hid my hair in a bun and walked out the door in my pajamas (thank you yoga pants and an old t-shirt). It would've been so easy to bypass the meeting and cuddle on the couch with my girls watching cartoons. But I didn't...I got myself to the meeting, I weighed in (and was down 1.2 pounds!!) and stayed for the meeting.

Blogging about all of this is weird. On one hand its incredibly therapeutic, on the other hand there is so much I want to say and get out. How much sharing is too much? How much more scattered can all these thoughts be? All I know is that I feel like I'm finally looking at the world differently....its strange...its exciting....and its kinda scary all at the same time.

Up a Pound

I gained a pound last week.


I spent two days stuck in a hotel in Sacramento and my eating was regulated to conference food buffet options. Sure, there were salads (with full fat salad dressing), grilled veggies (dressed in olive oil) along with an open bar and incredible desserts. The food was rich and laden with extra salt, guaranteed hidden fat and calories I don't need. 


I tracked everything I ate and attributed points values to the best of my ability. I owned up and enjoyed the three Blue Moons I tossed back during our cocktail hour. I patted myself on the back when I ate a third of the bag of chips and when I ate a couple bites of brownie and quickly destroyed the rest so I wouldn't over do it. I was proud when I chose two boiled eggs for breakfast over a platter of breakfast muffins, croissants and danishes. Instead of giving up and writing off those two days, I decided to face each meal as an opportunity. I wasn't going to be perfect, but I was determined to face the challenge head on.


My first two weigh ins were stellar. I know that most people drop larger amounts in the early weeks of their journey. I'm fully prepared to lose a pound a week. I know healthy weight loss isn't found in dramatic numbers. With all that said, last week's increase of a pound has me motivated. My head is totally in the game this week...and its a new feeling for me, but I gotta say, it feels good. I'm an admitted control freak, and the control I've discovered regarding my diet is empowering in a way I hadn't anticipated. I'm hungry for success.

Pulled

My cousin was down from Oregon a week or so ago and we had a couple of good chats. I told him that he shouldn't feel guilty, that at the end of the day there is only so much of himself that he can give away without having anything left for himself. He nodded, smiled and was like, "when I'm having one of those days I'm gonna call you." I give good advice and yet, I have a really hard time following it myself.

In so many areas of my life I push myself to the max. I have to be in control and I thrive in competitive situations, but at the ripe old age of 31 (soon to be 32) I'm beginning to wonder where and how I fit into it all? I never feel as though I have enough time and I constantly want to do more. I don't feel as though I'm special, in fact I know other women feel the same way. From family, to work, to my friends, I'm constantly giving...and if I'm constantly giving, then what is left of me for me?

Pushing the limits, thriving on the power of the pull, playing roulette, waiting for the snap. This has been my life for so long. Its what I know, its what I'm comfortable with. This is my automatic pilot mode. I'm pulled in so many different directions and I would be amiss if I didn't acknowledge the looming feeling that one of these days I'm going to snap.

I see myself as a super hero. I juggle responsibilities like I'm the director of a tableau. Did you know its harder to stay still than it is to keep moving? I've been intrigued by yoga for some time. I even thought about attending a yoga class offered at work. A few weeks ago I found a yoga workout on demand and decided to give it a try before I attended a class and looked like a fool. This video was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I'm a flexible fatty, I should've been able to do a good number of the poses. I sretched, I followed the instructor...only I couldn't turn my mind off. I couldn't consciously breathe. I felt exposed, naked and anxious. Same goes for meditation. I start with the best of intentions and then like a goldfish with a three second memory I lose focus and forget that I'm meditating. I simply don't know how to quiet my mind these days.

Weigh In #2

Tomorrow is my second weigh in at Weight Watchers. Not quite sure how I'm feeling. On one hand I'm nervous (I had a really good first week loss and I know it is very unlikely I will lose that much this time around) and on the other hand I'm actually looking forward to it. In the past when I've tried to lose weight I've been fickle. Most “diets” lose their glimmer after a week or two...I will do really well and then casually start to slide. I tell myself that its okay, that I've had a bad day...that I'll have a fatty double double, fries and large Dr. Pepper because I deserve it. I've slowly begun to realize that I deserve much more than a temporary meal can provide me.

The all powerful “they” tell me that the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem. Drug addicts and alcoholics can hide their addictions (at least for awhile), but a food addict doesn't have that luxury. People see me and whether intentional or not, judgments are immediately made. Sometimes I can literally see their mind at work and I wonder. Do they think I'm lazy? A slobby sloth without any pride? A woman who simply doesn't care?

The truth isn't any of those things...I don't think I'm lazy, I take pride in my appearance and I honestly care. When you weigh as much as I do the sheer volume of weight I need to lose is so completely overwhelming...how do you wrap your head around the number? Currently I'm hovering just above 400 pounds, to have a BMI within normal range a woman of my height shouldn't weigh no more than 168 pounds. I've done the math over and over again...by those who adhere to BMI I have 237 pounds to lose. There are so many reasons why I haven't genuinely tried to lose weight, but the biggest reason is I have NO clue how to lose that much weight. It seems damn near impossible...and when things feel impossible people don't try.

So, rather than think about losing 200 pounds, 100 pounds or even 50 pounds I've made the commitment to take each day as it is, to really try to learn balance and to make a commitment to myself. The pounds weren't added overnight and they're not going to be lost overnight.

So...tomorrow...weigh in #2...wish me luck!

Always Fat

Its always been obvious that I'm not the same size as the world around me. The mirror doesn't lie and it's not like I haven't known I'm fat. From well meaning friends and doctors with raised eyebrows I can't even begin to count how many times I've been asked, “so, how old were you when your weight became a problem?” I've answered the question with a combination of laughter and blunt honesty. The manner of delivery may change, but the kernel of truth remains, every single memory of myself includes a fat me.

As I child I was chubby and while I succeeded academically I was ridiculed and teased. I was Thunder Thighs, the chatty smart kid who was always one of the last kids chosen for kick ball teams, the little girl who never had first a “boyfriend” to hold hands with. Being a fat kid was rough enough, add in being an asthmatic fat kid and I felt like a leper. In junior high I remember perfecting changing into my PE clothes in less than a minute flat because I didn't want anybody to see my flab. Imagine my anxiety when we did a swimming unit in 7th and 8th grade!! In high school I further buried myself in the world of academics. I took college level classes, joined the Speech & Debate team, participated in successful Mock Trial and Academic Decathlon competitions and generally did my best to forget that I had never been kissed, never dated and never went to a single high school dance.

The size of my clothes is different, but its more than that. As an always fat girl, I'm simply different. In some ways I appreciate a kind smile more than most, I feel for the chubby kid I see huffing and puffing at the park, and when I see a young woman look uncomfortable in tight unflattering clothes I immediately sympathize...and sometimes a feeling of deja vu washes over me.

One way or another, I've always had to deal with my weight. I've ignored it, made fun of it, laughed about it, and for the most part I've made a conscious effort through awkward moments and feelings of inadequacy to not let my size define me. For as long as I can remember “I'm more than just a fat girl” has been my mantra. While I may have hid and avoided my feelings, I've always tried to not let my size hold me back. I've laughed, loved and danced like nobody's watching...

Throughout the years people have remarked that I have a good self esteem. Sometimes I think thats the case, and sometimes in the back of my head I wonder if my high confidence level is nothing more than a coping mechanism. Deep down I know thats not the case; I know that I'm smart, beautiful and wonderful...but on particularly bad days I can't help but wonder.

In the past few years I've finally reached a point in my life where I'm DONE being this fat. In my heart I know I will never be small, in fact I think I will always be a large person...only I know I'm not meant to be this large (nobody is). I  thought about starting a new blog detailing the thoughts and emotions involved in losing weight, but decided to go back to my old blog. This journey is a part of me not only discovering who I am, but making the conscious effort to decide who I want to be. I need to have all the pieces of me in one place. 

The number on the scale only tells one story... I've decided its time to share the rest. 

7/20/11 - Concert in the Park!

After dinner Scott and I decided to take the girls on a spur of the moment trip to Hart Park for their Summer Concert Series. The Doo-Wah Riders were playing, mama likes country and the kids love pretty much any park...so why not!

They love to dance with each other

Scott and Ellie pausing in their funny antics to let Mama take a quick pic

One, Two, Three, UP HIGH!

I tried to get Daddy and his girls...

Pirate Irelyn getting her dance on

Dance like nobody is watching...we all could learn a thing or two from this kid

7/19/11 - Mall Trip

I took some vacation time off of work for some much needed R & R. During my time off we went to the mall one afternoon. I had some Lane Bryant reward checks to use and thought the girls would have a good time playing in the kids area.

Ellie really loved the freedom of running around and climbing on everything

I look like a pimply kid going through puberty and Scott has kid slobber on his shirt. We're so sexy!!

On a boat! (sing it!)

Rare family picture!

Summer Mud Fun!

We are lucky to have a really large backyard. Recently the girls decided that playing in the mud was the best thing ever!

She thought she was quite cool!

Nothing like dirt!

She practiced applying war paint!

7/4/11 - Independence Day Extravaganza!

We didn't have any plans leading into the 4th of July. Our friends invited us over for an impromptu BBQ and we leaped at the chance at getting out of the house! A & D had their backyard set up as a kids paradise, there was a ball pit, water tables, sand box and kiddie pools. The kidlet had a great time, but I honestly think the lil one had a better time. She had the freedom to roam around and do and she pleased and she *loved* it!

Enjoying the water

Ellie in her own little ball world....

Resting after getting back from Bella's BBQ Bash!

Irelyn cheered for pretty much every firework we let off

I think Ellie was babbling to Granny about how much she enjoyed the fireworks

Ellie thought the fire works was super cool!

Pop was pretending to be a firedancer!

More smiles

7/18/2011 - Disneyland Trip!

Yesterday evening the kidlet and I took a trip to Disneyland. My dud (alias used to protect the innocent) was in town and the plan was to meet up with her and her family for a bit. We got to the park and noticed that people were sitting and on the sidewalk and the kidlet and I decided to sit and wait for the parade. I'm so glad we did, the new summer parade is AMAZING!! Countless characters made eye contact with the kidlet. They waved and winked and she felt quite special! Then, towards the end of the parade Peter Pan pranced up to the kidlett, gives her a high five and positions the Tinkerbell sunglasses she was wearing. The glow radiating from my child was almost tangible!

We ran into the Queen of Hearts as we arrived at the park

She wouldn't take a picture with me...

Still resisting...

Resist was futile! I got the picture!!

7/16/11 - Adult Night Out!

The kidlet was in Arizona with Granny and Uncle Buzzard and PopPop offered to baby sit the lil one...and well, before you know it the conditions were prime for an Adult Night out! 

Carla and  just before leaving my house

"Black & Yellow, Black & Yellow"

Scott goofin' around!

Ellie's Birth Story - Part 2

PreI had an appointment with my ob at 39 weeks and consented to a vaginal exam. He was surprised to find out that I was 4 to 4.5 cm dilated. When I left the office he grinned and said, "I'll see you soon! 

Days went by and I became a pro at prodromal labor. Contractions would start and just when I thought they were going somewhere they'd totally stop. On Saturday night I just decided that I couldn't think about labor anymore, I just needed to let it go for the next couple of days. My next appointment with my ob was on Tuesday and I decided we'd just go from there. Sunday wasn't anything special. Scott, Irelyn and I got up and went to breakfast, then we went to Babies R US. I lounged around most of the day and took a really nice nap with Irelyn. When I woke up I decided that I NEEDED nachos! I told Scott and we went and tried out a new cheap place my mom had found.

My doula (Jen) had sent me a text asking me how I was doing and I told her we were on our way to go get Mexican food. She joked and said that maybe it'd put me in labor. I laughed...I really love spicy food, and thankfully it doesn't affect my digestive system or anything. I like it so hot, that finding stuff out there that is too hot for me, well...yeah, that’s difficult!

We had dinner and then Schanelle asked if she could stop by. A bunch of my close friends went to Vegas for the weekend and they were on their way home. She came by and visited. Just before she went to leave I had this crazy pain that kind of felt like a gas pain. I honestly thought I just had to go poo....

She left and then a little bit later I had another one of these pains. It wasn't a gas pain, but it didn't feel like one of the contractions I was used to having either. When they first started there wasn't a definite start or end to them. After having about 4-5 of these "pains" I texted my doula and she asked if I was online. My computer was on, and we started chatting. We discussed what these pains felt like and she told me she'd check in on me in an hour. This was at about 9pm. I got off the computer and immediately I felt another rush...and immediately I knew we weren't playing around. Something clicked inside of me and I knew this was the real deal.

I had downloaded a contraction counter app on my phone. I began using it and keeping track of my contractions. In the next half an hour I had about 6 contractions, they were lasting about a minute and were about 5 minutes a part. I decided not to wait for my doula to check in with me, I called her and told her to come over. I knew I'd go fast and she lives 70+ miles away.

Then I got the crazy idea to take a shower! I had a couple loose stools earlier in the day and I was determined to be as fresh as possible when I arrived at the hospital. The hot water felt AMAZING during a contraction. If I could've birthed in water I think I would've loved it...

Contractions...what can I say about them...they're fun! Really! I thought I knew what contractions felt like (and I did...if they were the Braxton Hicks and prodromal labor variety), but when it came to the type of contractions I was having I had no clue! I had a LOT OF PRESSURE in my lower back during each contraction. It felt REALLY good to have Scott, or my mom press down on my lower back. I'd get on all fours or lean over the couch and one of them would press down on me. The nice thing about the contractions was that there was a pause between them! I breathed...focused on not being tense and bam, it would end, and then I'd feel normal again!

During this time my doula was keeping in contact with me while she drove down. She told me if the contractions came about every 2 minutes a part to go to the hospital and she'd meet me there. Things were moving really fast...

My mom suggested that we go to the hospital and I remember snapping at her. I wasn't mentally ready yet and honestly even though the contractions were coming quickly they weren't unbearable and I didn't think it was time. I went outside and just stood in the moonlight. I breathed and as crazy as this may sound I thought of my ancestress’, I thought about the women who came before me and birthed naturally. I thought about all the women across the world that were in labor with me and as crazy as it sounds to others, this was an incredible moment for me. My doula texted me while I was outside and told me that she was about 10 minutes away, I had 2 good contractions while I was in my front yard, I was sweaty and then it dawned on me...it was hospital time, I was going to have a baby very very soon!

Jen got here, and we immediately went to the hospital which is about 5-10 minutes away. She suggested that I wiggle my toes during a contraction in the car to keep me from tensing up and I did that. It seemed to help. I also had a tennis ball for my lower back. When I had a contraction I'd push into the ball and that helped too.

Scott made a wrong turn into the parking lot and I thought I was going to cause him bodily harm. I got to the hospital and checked in. I remember them wanting to weigh me and the scale being quite far away. I had a hunch the scale didn’t go over 350 pounds and I weigh over that, I said that to the nurse and she rolled her eyes. I wasn't a fan of the nurse I was assigned too. She didn't want my doula or mother to go back with me while she admitted me (which the hospital doesn't have a policy on), she was somewhat snappy and I could see the disapproval in her face when I even mentioned I had a doula. Lovely I thought...

I didn't let her sour disposition get to me. This was my day, my show...it was show time and I was determined not to be shy. She rudely asked me if I had a birth plan and I told her that I did not, but that I had preferences and would be more than willing to discuss things with her as they came up. Looking back I'm pretty shocked I was so well spoken with her during contractions and everything. I had preadmitted to the hospital, and for whatever reason I had to go through EVERYTHING again. That was a huge pain. There I was in transition and she was asking me if I had any STDs, etc. SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS!

We checked in between 11:30 and midnight, so about 2 and a half hours from when I first started having those weird pains. The nurse offered me a hospital gown and I gave it back to her. I didn’t want to wear it. This will sound weird to other people, but for me the hospital gown was symbolic. I didn’t want a hospital gown that said “Property of Los Alamitos Hospital”…I was nobody’s property…The nurse gave me a look and was like, okay...

The nurse checked me and to my complete and utter surprise I was already 9 cm dialated! I mean, yeah, I knew I was at 4/4.5 cm from the week before, but since my water hadn't broken I honestly didn't think I'd be that far along. After they did the cervical check they needed to hook me up to the external fetal monitor to calculate the babies heart rate. I made the comment to the nurse that I had

 discussed this with my ob and he had agreed to intermittent monitoring, then my lovely nurse informed me that my doctor wasn't on call, that the other doctor in the practice was and she would need to discuss with her. I remember the snappy nursing acting as if she had one upped me or something. Thankfully I had previously met the other doctor. I didn't have an established relationship with her, but seriously, what can you do?

The most difficult time during labor was laying somewhat still while they tried to get the external monitor on me. Oh, and at the same time another nurse was trying to put a heplock in (I didn't want an IV, but did consent to having a heplock). At the same time a tech was drawing blood from my other hand. All three things at once, LOVELY, right? I know they got to do what they gotta do, and I completely respect that, but in order to get through those contractions I had to do what I had to do as well. I didn't even think in terms of, oh, I'm in transition or anything...I just knew I needed to wiggle...and moan.

I think I was somewhat of a novelty to the hospital staff, there were about 3 other nurses that came in to observe and help with the heplock. They weren’t intrusive or anything and I wasn’t bothered, but I remember how weird it was that these other nurse thought I was so different. I wanted to be like, “Haven’t you ever seen a woman in labor before!?”

I had planned on eating during labor. It’s a complete fallacy how most hospitals don’t let a woman drink or eat during labor. I asked the icky nurse if I could have some water and she was totally rude. My doula looked at me and was like, “Would you like some water?” I said yes. My assigned nurse grumbled something and the other nurses that were observing had mixed reactions. Two of them smiled and the other nurse kind of looked puzzled.

While they were doing the heplock I started thinking I couldn’t do it. I was in an uncomfortable position and in my head I kept hearing “I can’t…I can’t” over and over again.  In response I started chanting “I can do this” over and over again during a contraction. That wasn’t planned…it was just something that clicked and worked.

My doula offered to move the hospital bed into a position mimicking how I felt sitting on the toilet, she did that and I felt so much better! The ob showed up and she began to monitor Ellie's heart rate by hand. She asked me if I would consent to an internal monitor because she was having a problem keeping Ellie’s heartrate on the monitor. I asked if there had been any dips, she said no and I politely declined the monitor. She said I knew you would and smile. Then she checked me and I was pretty much at 10cm...without my water breaking and she asked me if I wanted her to break it. It was up to me, which I liked. I decided to let her go for it. She broke my water, I had another contraction or two and was told I could bear down and push when I felt like it. The ob also moved these foot petal things out. I was still in a sitting position, but was able to put my feet to the side and press down. This really helped as well.

Can I just say I hate directed pushing?! With Irelyn I had to push on a schedule, count, hold my breath and it was so mechanical. With this labor I pushed when my body told me to push...and it was AMAZING and wonderful. The first time I pushed I felt the ring of fire start and I intuitively I knew it wasn't going to be long, but in my head I was scared. My doctor and doula encouraged me to bear down again and both of them told me it would feel good. Honestly, it did kind of feel good, but not wonderful or anything. My doctor asked me how long I pushed with Irelyn and I told her about 20-25 minutes. She immediately put on a plastic gown. I had another really good contraction and I pushed...and I pooped. It was lovely! I even said, oh dear, I just went poo! The nurses, and doctor were so kind about everything, it was no big deal, and I was even encouraged to continue to poo!

One more push...and bam, Ellie flew out! She came out in a rush and the doctor almost dropped her!

She was placed on my belly and I was in complete heaven. I couldn't believe it happened so fast, and I was honestly shocked at how much it didn't hurt. We did delayed cord clamping and when it came time to cut the cord, I did it! That wasn't planned, but when the nurse asked for Scott to come over and cut the cord something clicked inside of me and I knew I wanted to be the one to cut it. I said, "Honey, do you mind?" He smiled and shook his head. Without words his look told me he understood and that he didn't mind.

Looking back on the experience I’m still surprised that I did it. I put my mind to it…and bam, it happened. This birth is SO unlike my first birth in so many ways. Yes, my nurse bugged me, but my doctor was more supportive than I anticipated (and she wasn’t even my primary doctor). Every preference I wanted actually happened (and I had prepared myself for that not happening).

My body went into labor on its own. Absolutely no pain medication. No IV. No continuous monitoring. No internal monitoring. I sat in a squatting position. I had immediate skin to skin. AMAZING.

Her full name is Elle Alice and we call her Ellie. Alice is after my grandmother.

She weighed 8 pounds, 12 ounces and was 21 inches long. Oh, and her head was 14 cm in diameter :o)

I delivered an hour and a half after I checked into the hospital total length of labor was 4 hours long =) Ellie and I came home at 7pm on the same day I gave birth. After having to check out with Irelyn nothing felt better than taking my baby home with me. One of the best memories is having Irelyn come to pick Ellie and I up from the hospital!

This is what natural birth looks like, picture taken right as Ellie was born.

Ellie nursing for the first time!

Irelyn meeting her baby sister for the first time

Ellie's Birth Story - Part 1

I wrote this after Ellie was born. I'm not sure why I held off posting it...with it being Ellie's birthday today I feel as though I'm ready to share some of my feelings.

Its been 12 hours since the birth of Ellie and I honestly think I’m still somewhat in shock. What an amazing, powerful and completely fulfilling experience.

This is the story of Ellie…and the story of me, finding my voice and listening to that inner quiet voice inside myself.

When I got pregnant with Ellie I weighed 411 pounds. I could be ashamed of that number, or embarrassed or completely disheartened over the fact that I’m that morbidly obese. Honestly, it is what it is and I’m not one to point fingers or make excuses. I accept myself for who I am…and that’s that. I’m lucky that I carry my weight well and that I don’t have any health problems, but I’m smart enough to know that my weight immediately labels me as “high risk”.

When I got pregnant with my first daughter, Irelyn, I was pretty much the same size. I recall spending most of that pregnancy feeling grateful. I was pregnant, healthy and I had a doctor who didn’t treat me all that differently. He reminded me time and again that despite my size I was healthy (one of his healthiest patients in fact) and that he wasn’t going to treat me any differently. I liked him, took him at his word and felt a sense of trust throughout my pregnancy and delivery…and yet, I blindly was naïve.

If you know me, then you know I’m a voracious reader and an analytical thinker. I love random trivia and I enjoy learning new things for the sake of learning. Strangely, when it came to my first pregnancy I took everything at face value and to my embarrassment I didn’t read much of anything about labor. I was gifted “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and like so many other first time moms I flipped through it as if it was the holy grail of childbirth and baby development. Reading about surgical births and inductions was common, typical and something I didn’t think twice about.

As a plus size woman I did try to find information specific to plus size moms. For the most part everything available on the web indicates that overweight women have a higher chance of high blood pressure, gestational diabetes and many of them due to their size have an increased likelihood of needing a cesarean section. Again, I took everything at face value…except the c-section thing. Logically it didn’t make sense to me…just because I’m fat I’d need a c-section? Hmm….

Thankfully my doctor did not agree with that line of thinking and said he didn’t think there was any reason why I could not deliver my child vaginally the way my body intended to birth. A week before I was due he called me and suggested that we induce. My Bishop Score was favorable, I was about 3 cm dialated, he was on call and without saying it I knew my best chance for a vaginal delivery would be if he was the doctor on duty. The other care providers in that medical group didn’t share his birthing philosophy. I knew inductions were common…I unquestioningly trusted my doctor and without thinking I agreed to an unnecessary induction.  

What I didn’t know about inductions is that it’s a slippery slope of interventions. I didn’t know that one thing lead to another. I went in at 6 am, Pitocin was quickly administered, then my waters were artificially ruptured, I shot up to 7/8 cm and was told I’d need an epidural soon. I wasn’t opposed to pain medication and I figured the nurses did this every day, so while the pain was relatively minor I figured I might as well say yes now. The epidural immediately slowed my progression. The next 11 hours became a tap dance of tinkering with the Pitocin and epidural anesthia. Constant monitoring was required, and when the external monitor wasn’t doing the trick I was told we needed to use an internal monitor. Informed consent was completely absent during my entire labor experience. I nodded my head, didn’t ask questions and went along for the ride. I felt like a passenger on a train…I knew the end destination, but I had no clue how we were getting there and I sure as hell wasn’t stationed anywhere near the conductor.

After the end of a long 17 hour labor my beautiful Irelyn Luna was born. She was dream…and I got the vaginal delivery I wanted so badly. The next morning she was admitted to the NICU for observation for rapid breathing. She then needed to spend the next 10 days in the NICU while she was treated on a course of antibiotics for suspected sepsis. I want to make it very clear that I don’t think my induction “caused” my daughter’s NICU stay. However, I fully and intuitively believe many of the interventions I endured during her labor did not help the situation and contributed to the situation.

I remember when I first began to read and investigate Natural Childbirth. My roommate from college was on bed rest during her pregnancy and we’d email occasionally. She’d share what books she was reading and began mentioning her desire for a Natural Unmedicated Childbirth. I was intrigued…but not because I was necessarily interested. I thought it was great for her, but not really my cup of tea. I loved all of the reading she shared and it became an interest of mine. I felt like a little girl looking through the looking glass. This was how it could be…this is how women’s bodies were made to work. Other women’s bodies though…not my own, I mean, hello, I’m different…I’m FAT.

Then I met Jen. She is a coworker of mine stationed in a different office. The first time we met in person we engaged in idle chit chat and both shared that we had toddlers. She then mentioned that she had a homebirth with her son and that she was a doula. I was quickly captivated by her passion and an instant friendship was formed.

I had bitten the apple and unbeknownst to me a seed was slowly growing inside of me. I stopped seeing myself as “different” and gradually a new realization was born. I no longer accepted that natural childbirth was just for other people…it had become something I fully believed in and wanted for myself!

When I became pregnant with Ellie I had this new sense of self confidence. I was educated and I intuitively I knew that my childbirth experience this time around could and would be very different than my experience with Irelyn. My doctor had relocated and I began prenatal care with a midwife in the practice. I was upfront and shared my desires for a natural unmedicated childbirth. I also was very specific about not desiring an induction this time around.

At first she seemed as though she supported my desires. I thought I had lucked out, maybe this wasn’t going to be the struggle I had begun preparing myself for. When I was just under 20 weeks along I went in for a routine monthly visit. I left work early and was frustrated with inner office politics. It was raining and on the way into the office I was almost hit on the freeway. I was running late, tired and frustrated with my day. Nothing seemed to be going right. When the nurse took my blood pressure it was slightly elevated. I asked that she wait a few minutes and then do it again using a large cuff. She did so and it went down into my normal range. When my midwife came in she saw that the first reading was high and we talked very briefly about my day. She told me that when I made my next appointment that I make it with one of the obs in the practice.

During my next appointment I saw the ob and she discussed my 20 week ultrasound. At the time they said I had marginal placenta previa. I immediately panicked and while the midwife was getting the ob I did a quick google search on my phone. I learned more via google than what either the midwife or ob deigned to share with me. Then came the whammy of a conversation with the ob. She questioned my blood pressure (remember that one high reading?) and said that since I had an induction with my first, that if Ellie wasn’t born by 39 weeks that she “was taking my baby.” That’s a direct quote. I can still vividly recall how she made me feel; insignificant, minor, defective and unworthy. She went on about baby size, about how for the baby’s safety they needed “to take her as soon as possible” Nevermind that my pregnancy was going perfectly, nevermind that my blood pressure (save that one bad reading) had been wonderful. In this woman’s eyes all she saw was the fat...in her mind I truly think she viewed me as defective and flawed.

I pride myself on my communication skills and in that moment I shut down. I felt like an outsider viewing the verbal exchange as an observer. Here she was discussing my body, my baby and yet there was no dialogue. I listened to a diatribe of unfounded force. I remember walking out of there in a haze. On one hand I felt defeated and yet on the other hand I felt empowered. I decided then and there that I was done with that practice.

I switched doctors after that horrible experience. I was nervous during my first visit with my new ob. He came highly recommended from a friend and his c-section rate was very low. During the visit I not only found my voice but I used it. We discussed my situation, my weight, my desires and for the first time a medical caregiver actually listened to me. Real dialogue is an amazing thing!

Part II