Nursury Furniture for Plus Size Moms

A reader on Tumblr asked what glider or rocking chair I would recommend for plus size mommas, since I am one myself...

I was on a mission to find the perfect glider suitable for plus size preggos…The glider we originally registered for was not only obscenely expensive, but did not have the highest of weight capacities. The last thing we wanted was to spend $400 on a chair that we could expect to fall apart on us because it wasn’t meant to hold me in the first place…
 
After checking countless forums, manufacturers websites and reviews online (not to mention comparison shopping at different websites to get the best deal), I was able to find this:

It costs $200 retail INCLUDING the ottoman, is the exact material and color of all our other furniture, and holds up to 300 pounds.

I had it for almost 2 entire years before we got rid of it. It held up very well, even with daily use! It was super comfortable and a life saver when it came to overnight nursings. I never used the ottoman much, to be honest, just because it feels weird to me to rock back and forth with my feet up, but otherwise I'm very happy with our purchase of this glider!

I'd love to hear about any other suggestions for plus size friendly furniture or baby gear. Let me know if there's something you can't live without as a plus sized momma!

Guest Post: "How I Met My Littlest Valentine"

At 41 weeks and 1 day pregnant around 6:30pm on Thursday February 13 I changed positions on the sofa and felt some type of liquid come out of me. Assuming that I peed myself I headed into the bathroom but there wasn’t the smell of pee. I sat back down and went onto my online pregnancy support group asking if they thought it was pee or amniotic fluid. I called my doula and she said to call the midwife and figure out what to do. I put another pair of underwear on to see if I was still leaking and sure enough I was. I woke up Evan and said “My water broke. I think this is it. I think we’re having a baby today.” Evan shot right up and got out of bed in a total panic. He had to shower, his bag wasn’t totally packed, the house was a mess. I called the midwife and she said to head to the hospital. My plan was the birth center so I was a bit panicked. I was terrified of not laboring fast enough, being pumped with drugs, and getting forced into a cesarean. Evan kept telling me everything would be okay and we were probably just going to the hospital because the birth center had closed that day due to the snow and the parking lot was most likely not plowed. I called my Mom and told her I thought my water broke and I needed to go in to get the fluid tested. 

My parents came over as quickly as they could. Fitting the four of us, our bags, and my birth ball in my Dad’s truck was not an easy task. On top of that my mother thought I would be cold so she had the heat up. I was sweating my butt off and asked them to open the windows. There was some where between 6 to 12 inches of snow on the ground and it was still snowing when we were on the road.  We got to the hospital and I totally forgot how to get to the maternity ward so I waited in line at the front desk and got directions. We got checked in and Evan sat with me in a room waiting for someone to come in to check me. The woman who came in was very ill mannered and seemed annoyed that I had questions. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen because I didn’t have a hospital birth in my mind and I was confused about being Group B Strep positive and having my water break before labor. The woman told me I needed to be checked in and that it was amniotic fluid and we had to start an induction. Tears immediately began for the fear of needles, air bubbles in the line, medical interventions leading to cesarean. I felt so rushed from the doctor, nurses, the millions of questions my parents had, and the amount of emotions I was feeling on top of worrying about how Evan was. After arriving in the delivery room the nurses came in for the antibiotic IV and pitocin. My midwife was in the room and told the nurses that my veins are hard to find and they would need the IV team but the nurse was convinced she could do it herself. She couldn’t. It hurt quite a bit while she wiggled the needle around in my arm trying to figure out where it needed to go. She finally gave up and called the IV team. Another nurse catalogued my belongings and asked if all my jewelry could be easily removed in case there was a cause for a cesarean. That made my mind race even more than it already was. During all this time I was crying and trying to remember to stay calm and breathe. After being hooked up to everything the midwife checked me for dilation and I was about one and a half centimeters. 

Once everything settled I called my doula who was upset that she wasn’t able to be there from the very beginning of everything. She arrived sometime around midnight and told me what to expect. She suggested I try to get some sleep but since Evan works nights I was sort of on his schedule and he was wide awake. We watched Mob Wives and Couples Therapy and then the local news. Evan and my doula eventually fell asleep and I tried to sleep as well. I was hooked up to a blood pressure cuff that had to go off every 15 minutes. Because I’m fat I need an adult thigh cuff for an accurate reading. I was constantly woken up from the machine going off on top of the fact that the cuff didn’t fit and made my arm twitch and go numb. A nurse periodically came in because the readings were off and I tried to explain what size cuff I needed. The nurse told me that size didn’t exist and moved the cuff to my forearm which didn’t really make a difference. I’m not sure how much sleep I got but I did sleep a little bit. 

On Friday February 14 we woke up sometime around 7:00am. At 9:00am I was checked and was 4 centimeters dilated. Evan left to get breakfast while I was with my doula. I sat on a birth ball bouncing up and down waiting for a nurse to come in so I could get on wireless monitoring. After being on wireless monitoring I was able to walk around the room, sit in different positions on the bed, lean against the wall, and do whatever I needed to manage the pain. Evan came back from breakfast with some juice and a rose for Valentine’s Day. He must have spent a fortune in the gift shop but he didn’t want Valentine’s Day to pass without giving me a rose. Laboring was much different than I hoped it would be. The IV was annoying and the wireless monitors kept moving plus I had to get my blood pressure checked every half hour. Luckily the nurses that came with the shift change were so much more pleasant than the ones from overnight. They let me go longer in-between blood pressure checks to not stop my concentration and stopped readjusting the wireless monitors as often as they should have. They even informed every one of my birth plan and wrote a note on my door specifying quiet voices, natural lighting, and to keep the door shut at all times. The midwife came in I think around lunch time and asked if I wanted to be checked. I told her no because I was worried if I wasn’t as far as I had imagined that labor would stall due to my mental state. During breaks between contractions I read birth affirmations and listened to a hip hop play list, I had a classical music playlist but it didn’t distract me enough. My doula told me to turn on whatever music I normally listened to or else I wouldn’t be able to block out the pain. Evan stood behind me massaging my lower back while I was on the birth ball, then my doula would fill in with different massages and suggest other positions. I decided I wanted to walk the hallway. Walking was terrible. I had to stop walking during contractions so I gave up that idea and headed back to my room. 

At 4:00pm I asked to be checked. At that point I was on my birth ball and in a world of pain. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could do it. When the midwife came in and checked she told me I was at 7 centimeters. I laid on the bed thinking there was no way in hell I would have been able to stay at home until this point like I had planned. I had wanted to labor at home for as long as possible and head to the birth center around 7 or 8 centimeters. I think I would have panicked long before this point if I had been at home. I remember telling anyone in the room that would listen that I couldn’t do it much longer. I repeatedly said that it hurt really badly and I couldn’t do it. Evan was behind me in a chair and I was on the birth ball. I leaned back onto him during each contraction. I don’t know if I looked like I was having a difficult time or if it was because I kept saying I couldn’t do it but with every lean back he would whisper in my ear and tell me how strong I was. Hearing him tell me I was doing well was what I needed. It was still awful but I thought if Evan believed in me then I must be able to do it. I asked how long they thought I would be in labor and my doula told me at least two more hours. I looked up at the clock and cried. Contractions came and went and I looked at the clock again. It had only been ten minutes. I thought  to myself “Shit. It’s been ten minutes how the hell can I do this for two more hours?!.”  

After spending almost two hours on the birth ball I decided to go on my hands and knees on the hospital bed. The hospital bed had a setting where the bottom part dropped down and you could sit on the top part with your feet on the bottom part sort of like a chair if that makes sense. So on all fours my knees were on the lower part of the bed while I leaned over the top. I asked Evan for the ultrasound picture of our daughter. I laid that picture on the pillow in front of me and with every contraction I kept telling myself this was all for her. If I could just make it through this contraction I would be one step closer to meeting the sweet baby in the picture. I’m not sure how long I was in this position before I told them I felt like I had to push. My doula told me to wait for the midwife. There was a shift change. I heard them whispering the name of the midwife that was on her way. The second I heard her name I felt so defeated. I knew I was going to end up getting a cesarean. This midwife was the only one during my pregnancy who brought up complications that were going to happen because of my weight. She never spoke to me as though they could happen, it was always they will happen. I had proven her to be wrong up until this point. I was so worried that with the first little thing to go wrong she would tell me I was done and I would have to go to surgery. After those fleeting negative thoughts I remembered the picture on my desk top. It said “Wake up every morning and tell yourself you’re a bad ass bitch from hell and no one can fuck with you. And then don’t let anyone fuck with you.” I pushed all the negativity out and said to myself “You are a bad ass bitch from hell. Do not let her fuck with you. You can do this. Suck it up and do it.” When the midwife came in she checked me and told me I wasn’t ready to push but I told her I had to. She asked me to wait and I was there on the bed wondering how to stop myself from pushing without totally screwing up the labor process. I didn’t understand and I still don’t understand. I don’t get how you can just hold in a baby as if you’re holding in your pee. I pushed. I said it again “I seriously have to push. I can’t not do it.” I heard my doula say “Okay then push.” With her support I started pushing with each contraction. I looked at the clock and it was 6:00pm. I was mad. They told me it would be at least two hours. I had it in my head that by this time I would be holding my baby. I pushed as hard as I possibly could and my God did it hurt. I was pushing, and pushing, and pushing and I finally started yelling at everyone. I yelled “CUT HER OUR OF ME.” I screamed. I screamed and my doula told me to focus. She said “Bring it back in. Control it.” Evan remembered something I had researched. I read that loud noises contract everything tight and low noises open everything up. I heard him say “Growl, Felicia. Get low.” So I did. I made super weird low growling sounds I have never made in my life. I tried to practice these sounds a few weeks earlier but I felt stupid so I gave up on it. I took a deep breath as I felt the contraction growing and as it peaked I pushed my body toward the midwife and growled. I heard the nurses sounding happy with their chatter and my doula said “Yes!! Get mad at it. That’s it.” I continued growling and pushing for what seemed like an eternity.  Evan left to get me more water and when he left I started screaming again. He told me he could hear me from the nurses station, which was pretty far from our room. Again and at least twenty other times I yelled “JUST CUT HER OUT!!” I kept telling them I couldn’t do it and every time I said “This really hurts!” the midwife would say “Well yeah Felicia, it does hurt.” When Evan came back I told him I needed medication and that I couldn’t do it any more. He and my doula both told me I had to be the one to ask. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to be the one to give up. I told them again that it hurt and I couldn’t do it. My doula said “You’re scared. Stop being scared. Stop fighting it. You can do it, you’re just scared.” I realized she was right. I was scared. I was never in labor before. I never felt contractions before. I never pushed out a baby before. I prepared myself for every part of labor and delivery. I researched terminology and knew almost every procedure they would try to do. I remembered I had a right to say no and that they were not in charge of my birth. It was MY birth. What I didn’t prepare for was the pain. But how do you even prepare for something you can’t even begin to comprehend? I had never even broken a bone before. I had no idea how badly labor would hurt. I was scared and I had a right to be. I thought back to my desk top. “You’re a bad ass bitch from hell. You are a bad ass. You can do this.” The growling continued and I got back into my groove. I was doing well but I was totally exhausted. I fell asleep between every contraction and I only opened my eyes to look at Evan. I remember I looked over at him because I couldn’t take it anymore. Evan must have seen in my eyes that I was ready to give up. He grabbed my face and said “You are so strong. You can do this. I’m so proud of you.”

I was doing well until I thought I was going to poop. The midwife told me it was fine and all the nurses said it wasn’t a big deal but I was on all fours and I thought if I pooped it was going to go everywhere. Worrying about pooping hindered me and I needed to switch positions. I layed on my left side while Evan held my right leg up. When I was in this position the midwife told me she had to move my cervix because it was in the way. She told me it would feel like being checked for dilation and that she had to wait for a contraction. With the next contraction she put her hand inside me and moved my cervix. It hurt a lot worse than being checked for dilation. I remember looking at her straight in the eye and saying “OW!” as if my whining would make her stop. I laid there on my side and continued to push like that for an unknown amount of time until I heard the midwife say “I can see a head and there’s a lot of hair.” I yelled “WHAT?! You see the baby?! Am I seriously about to have a baby?!” I looked at Evan and he was crying. Later he told me that once someone could actually see her he realized it was real. You know that saying that women become mothers the moment they are pregnant but men don’t become dads until they hold their child. Evan became a Dad at that moment. He was so happy. I don’t think I have ever seen him that happy. The nurse on my left told me I could reach down to touch the head. This was in my birth plan and I was glad she asked but I said no. She said this was my only chance and I could do it but it grossed me out too much to actually feel a baby down there. I pushed so many times . I was sick of waiting to have my baby in my arms. I felt the burning and I knew it was almost time. I knew the burning was her head coming out and I knew that the moment I felt like I couldn’t continue was the moment she would be out. I have no clue how many more times I pushed but eventually she was lifted out and placed on my stomach. She was perfect. I asked if it was a girl and once they said yes I counted her fingers and toes and told her happy birthday. I kissed her on the head and said “We did it, baby girl. We did it.” Coraline Paige was born at 8:14pm on Valentine’s Day. I was in the hospital and had to have antibiotics and pitocin but I didn’t get anything for the pain and it was an overall positive experience. Pushing for two hours sucked but in the end I got my Valentine’s baby.

The rest was a total blur. Evan cut the cord, my doula took pictures, I was in complete shock. I remember that they said my body had taken over and I wasn’t on pitocin but they turned it back on to deliver the placenta. I told them to make sure no one took the placenta because I was taking it home to be encapsulated. At some point they took my baby to be measured and weighed and I think that’s when I was getting stitched up. They gave her back to me and covered us up. I think they tried to clean the floor a little bit while Evan went out to tell our family that she was here.

Things that happened but I don’t know where they fit in:

-At some point during labor the wireless monitors were not picking anything up and there was trouble with my daughter’s heart beat. I was asked if I wanted internal monitoring and I had remembered that I didn’t but I couldn’t remember why so I just agreed because I thought a cord inside me would be much more tolerable than those annoying plastic circles and a huge piece of gauze around my stomach. I think this was when I was on all fours but I don’t quite remember the time line of everything.

-I threw up twice once I was on my side pushing but I don’t know if it was towards the beginning or end.

-The antibiotics for GBS burned so badly I was in tears until my arm was covered with a wet wash cloth. 

-When it was all over I opened my eyes and realized how many people were in the room. I think there was Evan, the midwife, Doula, and three nurses. I said hello to all of them and apologized for not paying attention to them during the labor process.

-The entire time I was in labor I asked Evan if he was okay and if he needed anything. I was worried about him passing out or not being able to take seeing me in pain. He surpassed every expectation and was completely amazing. 

-The first set of numbing shots before getting stitched up didn’t work and I felt the first few stitches. After telling her to stop and trying to wiggle away the midwife gave me three more shots of numbing stuff and then continued.

-I didn’t realize how warm the amniotic fluid would be or how much there was. My water breaking was a little trickle so as it gushed down my legs during labor I was completely disgusted. I remember the nurses laughing at me because I sat there saying “Ew” over and over again. 

There it is. My birth story. The hospital wasn’t what I wanted but it wasn't the total hell I had imagined. After being in a delivery room in the birth center for my postpartum check up I realized I probably wouldn’t have been able to deliver there. With my anxiety I think I would have panicked and needed the hospital because my pessimist mind wouldn’t have felt safe. I think for our next child, if we’re blessed to have another baby, I will plan on a hospital birth from the begging. I think having the midwives and a doula helped me get the birth I wanted. I’m about 90% sure that if I had an OB there’s no way I would have been allowed to labor and push for as long as I did. 

 

 

Written by Felicia T., momma of a beautiful little girl from Reading, Pennsylvania. She is a Domestic Goddess for a living and a human rights activist. Today, Coraline Paige is 5 months old!

I can’t believe some people are DEFENDING this.

Fifteen out of 105 of ob-gyns the Sentinel surveyed have set weight limits for patients, which usually start around 200 pounds or are based on BMI levels.

Most of the doctors said that their equipment and examining tables couldn’t hold larger woman (which smells oddly like bullshit), but some said that obesity comes with more complications that the doctors would rather avoid.

“People don’t realize the risk we’re taking by taking care of these patients,” Dr. Albert Triana, who practices in South Miami, tells the paper. “There’s more risk of something going wrong and more risk of getting sued. Everything is more complicated with an obese patient in GYN surgeries and in [pregnancies].”

Unsurprisingly, many of the doctors who have enacted the weight cut-off also have a history of being sued for malpractice or cover high malpractice insurance premiums.

While doctors can not turn down patients based on race, gender, or sexual orientation they are free to turn away patients based on weight. Though not everyone agrees with the policy.

“This completely goes against the principles of being a doctor,” James Zervios, a spokesman for the Obesity Action Commission said to the paper. “Health care professionals are there to help individuals improve their quality of health, not stigmatize them according to their weight.”
Source: Miami New Times Blog


I weighed about 280 when I conceived. I am having absolutely NO complications. I’m expected to have a perfectly healthy pregnancy and birth. To have turned me away simply due to weight would be discrimination, plain and simple, because weight has nothing to do with health or possible complications. Not all thin people are healthy and not all fat people are lazy diseased slobs.

I argued this point on my facebook earlier. You know what I was met with? A MAN I don’t know defending the article saying, and I quote, “if you care so much about your baby, why are you not in the healthiest condition you could be?”

My response?

“ideally I would have weighed less when I conceived, but it was unplanned. Seeing as losing 150 pounds overnight by sheer will and love for my child is impossible, suggesting I don’t care about my baby by not being “at my healthiest” (which actually, I am in spite of me weight) is remarkably fucked up and ignorant. My two cents.”

I saw the article earlier and was already pissed off, so to see a couple of MEN argue that fat women don’t love their kids simply because they’re fat kind of REALLY set me off. WTF do men know about being a woman, about being pregnant, about losing or gaining weight as a woman (because men and woman metabolize differently, in case I needed to point that out)? Answer: NOTHING.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but if the topic is over your head and is something you could never and will never understand, you will only sound ignorant and/or like an asshole by sharing your opinion. Not to mention that owning up to discrimination of any type isn’t exactly an attractive quality.

 I’ve always been considered overweight, obese, or even morbidly obese. I’ve NEVER had a problem with BP, cholesterol, etc whereas several of my thinner friends who don’t take care of themselves have had such problems. I’m not saying I’m the picture of health despite my weight, but I AM of the very strong opinion that simply LOOKING at me shouldn’t be enough to decide I’m not healthy. ssumptions are dangerous, regardless of what they’re based on. Turning someone away based simply on weight is no different then turning them away simply because they’re black, catholic, or gay. NONE of these things mean anything definitely about someone’s health, even if statistics might suggest differently. 

The point I am maki ng is that obesity in and of itself should NOT be reason enough to turn anyone away for treatment. And in this particular case, the insurance companies are applying pressure to doctors that based on their own histories of malpractice, are high-risk doctors, not necessarily because they deal with high-risk patients. 

 I’m willing to repeat my stance til my fingers fall off. Living an unhealthy lifestyle and being overweight are not synonymous. I haven’t had a problem with a doctor, thankyouverymuch but I don’t think anyone else in my position should.  


:EDIT: I juts want to add that just today, I went to the endocrinologist, a specialist that I am supposed to see every 6 weeks throughout my pregnancy simply due to my weight and nothing else…he looked over my blood work and was impressed with how good everything looked. “Beyond perfection!”, he said. He also told me he wished he could give me some suggestions or pointers, but, and I quote “You can’t argue with success!”

So there. 





NOTE: This post was originally dated May 17, 2011...this is the post from my pregnancy blog that lead to the NBC feature on Sizism in OB/GYN offices in Miami. I thought it'd be fun to post it here to show what my perspective on fat-shaming and being a plus size preggo was while I was actually pregnant ;)

Plus Size Preggo repost: "One Big RACKET"

On Thursday, we had several appointments…one of which was with a Gestational Diabetes specialist. My endocrinologist has been subjecting me to random glucose tolerance tests (BLECH!) and having me monitor my blood sugar pretty much since the beginning of the second trimester, simply due to the fact that I’m obese and the obstetrician insisted I be monitored closely since I’m “more likely” to develop GD. Throughout the pregnancy, my results have bounced from borderline pre-diabetes to completely normal and back, but never conclusively YOU HAVE GD.
 
One of the OBs in the practice (whom I really never liked because she has a really shitty attitude about everything) decided to give me yet ANOTHER glucose tolerance test because she didn’t believe I hadn’t developed GD (nice, right?)…so I went to the lab SHE wanted me to, took yet another test, and it came back positive for pre-diabetes (again, not full blown GD, just that I COULD develop it, which obviously we’ve known from the get-go). Well, based on that, she decided that rather than retest to see why that test came back high when none of the others had, she’d rather just send me to a diabetes specialist despite what my endocrinologist said.

So, I went…in the waiting room, I met a woman who DID have GD, and she told me she could tell just by looking at me that I was fine, and started pointing out all the physical manifestations of diabetes that she possessed that I clearly did not. I felt good about just letting whatever the specialist said roll off my back, until I got in there and she insisted that I was endangering my baby just by being me. At least, that’s what I took away from the conversation, since my blood work was perfect, so if I was endangering my child, it’s not due to my sugars.

I got REALLY pissed and kind of took it out on the lady, who kept trying to win me over after I went off on her, but I let her know not to bother, she’d lost any hope of me liking her and she should just say what she had to say. Long story short, I was given a booklet on diabetes management and given a VERY strict diet to go on immediately. I was given more testing supplies and told that I was to send her my blood work results once a week for the next 3 weeks to make sure my pre-diabetes could be controlled simply by diet and that insulin wasn’t necessary. I KNOW insulin isn’t necessary because I’M NOT SICK, so I decided to make the best of it….ok, a diet and testing 4 times a day…big whoop. I can stand to eat better and testing isn’t SUCH a drag…if it’ll shut these guys up in only 3 weeks, fine. I’ll play along.

THEN I got a call on Saturday from the specialists office, letting me know that I needed to meet with a nurse AT HOME, and have her give me more supplies, including ketostix (sounds like they’re doing more than monitoring my diet)…and SHOCKER! My insurance won’t pay for all of it, just 70%, so I need to pay $200 co-pay in order to be put on this program that I’m positive I don’t even need. If I thought for a SECOND that I was truly endangering my son, I absolutely would be on board, but since I’ve started the program, my blood sugar levels have been IDEAL. Not just good for a fat woman or good for a pregnant woman, but SIMPLY PERFECT. This is just one big racket to get the scared fat girl to pay for crap she doesn’t need and to squeeze more out of the insurance. How about I just buy some ketostix at Walgreens for $15 and we call it fair that I didn’t just send the whole pile of people involved to hell?

So yeah. The diet doesn’t SUCK (in fact, it’s a LOT of food), it just involves a LOT of planning because it’s not easy to count exchanges for pre-packaged food, so I’ve been eating nothing but home cooked food SIX times a day for the past 5 days, and will be for at least the next couple of weeks. The baby’s movements have been more subtle since I’ve started the diet, hubs thinks it might be because he’s not hopped up on fruit juice anymore LOL
End of rant.

Fat Discrimination Firsthand

 Originally dated 03/25/2011

Yesterday I had the first half of an integrated screening…basically at 10-12 weeks, they do bloodwork and a sonogram to measure the baby’s neck, and they do it again at 16-18 weeks, and based on averages from all tests, they determine a risk for Downs Syndrome, Neural Tube Defects, etc.

Bloodwork is second nature at this point, so that bit of the test was unremarkable. The sonogram was another story. Up until now, because it was so early in the pregnancy, all the baby viewing had been transvaginal (sorry if that’s TMI lol it’s the truths of pregnancy)…this was the first tummy sonogram. The nurse was SUPER nice, explaining every step, telling me each thing she was measuring, even stopping so I could watch the baby leapfrog around in my uterus (which was SUPER COOL…I can’t wait til I can feel it!)… then she got quiet. Obviously I got worried that she went from being really chatty to totally silent, so I asked if something was wrong…she said she was going to get the doctor to speak to me. I FREAKED.

When the doctor came in, I recognized him right away. I’d dealt with him once before for a sonogram I had done for my ovarian cysts a couple years back…then he walked into the room, did the sonogram and left, never introducing himself. He didn’t introduce himself yesterday either, so let’s call him Dr. Asshole, or Dr. A for short, since I STILL don’t know who the FUCK he is.

Dr. A was extremely rough with that little wand and caused me more pain with it than I thought was possible without actually bludgeoning me with it. He kept muttering and complaining to himself, and my nerves were going a mile a minute. Suddenly he stops and basically yells at me “WHY ARE YOU SO WORRIED?! You know, if you weren’t so fat, you wouldn’t worry so much.”

WHA……?

"Your fatness is making my job very difficult. The baby is not cooperating, but I cannot make it move because you are so fat!"

Now, I know I’m fat. No one needs to remind me. I also get that this guy sees 100 pregnant women a week and might be a bit desensitized to how traumatizing any test having to do with your baby can be, but SERIOUSLY?! How dare he talk to me like that? I have NEVER felt more bullied in my life.

Then he says “I need your help. Move your fat out of the way so I can get to the baby”…Now I didn’t just feel bullied, I felt humiliated. He was making me feel like a horrible mother because of my…weight? I still can’t believe I didn’t deck him or yell at him, which would have been my normal reaction. Instead I internalized and worried so much about the baby that all I could do was take his abuse, which is just what it was. ABUSE. He wouldn’t have said such a thing to a thinner woman if her baby wasn’t cooperating.

He started violently shaking my stomach at this point with the wand, and I had to speak up. “Could you stop that?” I said…”You’re hurting me, and I’m afraid that might hurt the baby”

"Well, I wouldn’t have to do it if you weren’t so fat!"

:STUNNED:

He decided to have me lay on my side for a bit to give the baby time to move while he went to attend to something else. I LOST my shit crying as soon as he left and starting talking to the baby, asking him/her to PLEASE move for mommy, because I wanted to get us both away from this man as soon as possible. About 5 minutes later, Dr. A came back, and lo and behold, the baby was in perfect position.

All I could do when he announced we were done was stare at him angrily while tears rolled down my cheeks. Then the fucker has the AUDICITY to lecture me about how I shouldn’t worry so much because people who worry have a MENTAL DISABILITY where they “don’t think right” and I have to correct that if I want to be a good parent.

I honestly don’t know what kept me from beating him half to death right then. The desperation to leave that office was actually strongly than my desire to kill this man, if you can believe it.

So yeah. The things I have to deal with as a fat pregnant woman, not because I’m an awful parent, not because my health is causing my baby harm (it’s not, and I have all the tests to prove it) but because of a number on a scale.

And mark my words, if I ever even SEE that man again, I will absolutely lose my shit. What an absolute fucking bastard. As sensitive as pregnant women are, you’d think he’d try to be a little kinder, not throw ALL bedside manner out the window.

So thanks, Dr. Asshole, for turning such a beautiful and exciting moments into literally one of the worst experiences of my life.

Reposted from my personal blog, Plus Size Preggo, where I detailed my pregnancy with my only son.

My Birth Story

 I wrote this back in August 2012, so some stuff is out of date (like my son is obviously no longer 10 months old lol) but everything else still applies.


*********

On September 24, which was a Saturday, I woke up to pee for the 8,956th time overnight at about 4am, and noticed I was leaking a little bit. I had been leaking randomly, contracting randomly, etc for weeks (TMI, sorry) so I paid it no mind and went back to bed.

At about noon, we were getting ready to head out to my parents house because Hubs had promised my little brother a driving lesson, when I got a really sharp pain that seemed to envelope my entire abdomen. That wouldn't have been a big deal, since I was used to random evil pains at this point, except this pain lasted 30 minutes straight. I was crying by the time it was over. I decided we should stop in at the hospital before we went to my parents, if only so they could assure me I was having my 48th false alarm before we went on with our day.

Lo and behold, my water was broken. Well, not broken. "Ruptured". Trickling.

And I was dilated a whole 1/2 cm.

I was immediately super excited and terrified, though excited won out in spades. We called our parents, and of course EVERYONE came over right away.

I was admitted, and put on an external monitor. The pain was pretty bad, to the point that my dad had to get up and leave because he couldn't stand to see me like that. I was checked a couple of times, and I remember thinking I was going to die during the cervical checks. Literally. I was making my peace because I was certain the pain of those checks was going to throw me into shock and my heart was going to suddenly stop beating. The labor was nothing compared to those checks.

I wasn't progressing, so at about 7:30pm (having been in labor for over 15 hours at this point), the nurses inserted something called Cervadil in "there", after much resistance from me (I wanted ZERO intervention if at all possible, and EVERYTHING the nurses suggested was met with resistance, FYI). It was basically a piece of paper with hormones in it meant to help my cervix dilate (open) and efface (thin out) over 12 hours. I was told to get some rest (yeah right) because tomorrow, I would be able to start pushing and I needed to conserve as much strength and energy as possible.

When I woke up the next morning (I say "woke up" loosely, I didn't sleep much thanks to the damned blood pressure cuff trying to murder me every hour and the random nurses walking in and out of the room to adjust the monitor). I was checked again, and I was only 1cm dilated. 12 hours of Cervadil got me a whole 1/2cm. I was told that I had to get on Pitocin, regardless of my protests, because it had been over 24 hours since my labor started and I had to help the baby (ha!) in order to avoid a c-section, which is my absolute greatest fear. So in goes the Pitocin.

I tried to nap since I slept so crap the night before, but I was woken from my nap to a nurse half yelling at me that I needed an internal monitor because they lost the baby on the external. BEGIN PANIC. I was terrified not only of the monitor, but the fact that THEY were so panicked about the baby. The contraption was so painful and uncomfortable, imagine a huge long spatula IN YOU then laying on your thigh. That's
how big this thing was (Bu STILL has a scar on his head from the monitor, btw, and he's 10 months old now). They finished rupturing my bag of waters to put it in, and the party really got going.

I had more cervical checks. I have to say, now almost a year postpartum, I don't remember what the pain of the labor OR the checks felt like, but I remember the screaming. I remember hearing myself scream and being so delirious that I was sure it must have been someone else because I couldn't even scream like that. It's incredible the things the mind remembers (and forgets) in order to protect oneself.

At some point in the late morning/early afternoon of September 25, I had some sort of epiphany. I said to myself "you're scared, and you're letting the pain take you over. You need to take over the pain, or you'll never get through this. Do it for the baby." So I started breathing. Mind you, I never took a single labor class (maybe I should have), so I had no basis for what to do. I just did it. Every time I felt the wave about to hit me, I barged into it instead of fighting it. I spread my hands in front of me, requested that no one touch me, and I just breathed. I was deep in concentration, and I hadn't realized that the contractions had more than tripled in strength according to the monitor.

I started to really feel like I was kicking this labor's butt! I felt strong and powerful. 38 hours into the labor, I was checked again, and I was so thankful to hear that I was now 3cm dilated and completely effaced! It was working! It was slow going, but it was working! I was on the right track! And still no pain meds! I would meet my baby soon, and he would be alert and recognize his momma immediately and everything would be perfect. I asked the
nurses how much worse I could expect the contractions to get, and they told me that based on what they saw on the monitor, I was having transition-like strength contractions already. My body was ready for delivery with the exception of my cervix (a pretty important bit LOL) so I shouldn't feel much worse at all.

I felt a second wind come over me! It wouldn't get much worse than this, and I was making progress! I was Wonder Woman! I just kept breathing, with my husband, mother, and grandmother in awe that I was doing so well considering the wreck I'd been for so many hours prior. I got a new nurse (my 4th or 5th, I believe) who was schooled in natural deliveries and minimal interventions. I felt this was fate encouraging me and I knew I was doing better than anyone expected, so I was relieved and ready to fight.

At 44 hours, I had another cervical check. I hadn't moved one centimeter. Not even half a centimeter. In 6 HOURS. The 6 hours where I was feeling like this labor was my bitch. I felt so defeated. As if that wasn't bad enough, my doctor walked in (the doctor, by the way, was second to last on the list-of-doctors-I-hope-will-deliver-me because she always seemed so clueless and incompetent during my office visits with her. The only doctor UNDER her in the list was a fat-phobic asshole who was an absolute nightmare both as a person and a doctor) and let me know that she'd waited long enough and I needed to have a c-section. I threw up.

A nurse came in and tried to put me in different positions (I had labored sitting the whole time because I couldn't take being on my back), but I was already defeated. I felt like the hospital was just toying with me now, to teach me a lesson (I was delirious, ok?). I was already doomed to a c-section, what could I possibly do in the next hour
that I hadn't already done for over 40 that would allow me a vaginal birth?

I barfed again on the way to the operating room. All over my cute custom delivery gown. I remained in that gown for the delivery, FYI. So I was covered in barf when my son was born. Cute.

I was shaking and crying the whole way to the operating room, and telling literally EVERY SINGLE PERSON I came in contact with that I was "SO SCARED". Some people tried to reassure me, others ignored me because they had work to do (probably for the best), but I promise not ONE person in that operating room was spared an "I'm so scared! ::SOB::" and there are a LOT of people in an OR for a c-section. They gave me a spinal (so I ended up with an epidural anyway) and I immediately felt my toes go numb, which scared the hell out of me (even more). I realized I could not move my toes, and I started uncontrollably shaking. I'm talking have-to-be-held-down, violent shakes. My husband was allowed into the room and he sat next to me while they did their thing. I heard the baby cry, and the doctor say "It's a boy!".

My first thought? "I know."

Ugh, I was so out of my mind.

Then I saw him. And I cried. My husband turned to me and said "It's our little boy!"

And I vomited. On his bare foot. Never wear flip-flops into an OR, people.

I know looking back I was really lucky that I got that doctor because she was a bit of a pushover, and every time I argued that I wanted another hour, and another and another, to see if I could do this naturally, she allowed it until the last possible moment. If I had gotten either of the 2 doctors I was hoping for, I would have been on the operating table just hours after being admitted, not days. It can be argued that I ended up on the operating table anyway, but it was MY CHOICE to have such a long labor, and she allowed me that choice. I couldn't be more grateful to her for that.

And so, the absolute light of my life and reason for being came into this world 3 days after I entered the hospital, after 46 hours of unmedicated labor.  It's definitely a story, and an extraordinary experience. And believe it or not, I wouldn't have had it any other way.


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Guest Post: "My Fat is None of Your F***ing Business"

***warning for language***

My fat is none of your fucking business.

This seems to be something you have trouble understanding. Is there something in the rolls of my stomach that compels you to talk about me as if my fat is on par with some unforgivable offense? You know, maybe my offense was theft. Theft of the self assurance of your media that promises you that your waistline is tantamount to earned morality - because the nicer I am the more confused you get, the harder it is for you to believe that someone like me could let you down by daring to be fat.

I have news for you. My fat and your feelings are never, have never, should never be friends. My fat and your feelings live on opposite sides of the planet and get bad cell reception and bad internet connection.. My fat does not steal your air, your food, or your sense of self. I’m not asking you to touch it or feed it or take it away from me, I’m not asking you to look or not look. My fat means nothing more to you than your hair means to me -- or your teeth or the shape of your chin or whether you’re right handed or left. My fat is not arrogant. Daring to be conventionally unattractive steals nothing from you.

So when my stomach, my thighs, or my arms offend you enough to compel you to remind me of my place in the world, all I can think is:

How the fuck is that any of your business? Is failing to turn you on such a crime? And don’t give me that “promoting an unhealthy lifestyle” bullshit. I am not a promotion. I am not a walking billboard for carbs and sugar. I am not a contagious disease. You will never touch me or breathe the air that I do and spontaneously turn into blubber. My reasons for being fat - my lifestyle, my diet, my childhood, my budget, my self esteem, or my mental health - are none of your business, so how the fuck is the result of them any of your concern?

If I seem angry, it’s because I am angry. I am enraged. I am a scary, pissed off fatty who is sick of society’s permissible hatred giving ten year old girls eating disorders so they’ll be fuckable when they’re seventeen, because “nobody wants to take a fat girl to prom”. I’m pissed off that women are told they’re too fat to believably be loved on stage. I’m pissed off because I can’t eat more than half a sandwich in public without being stared at. And I am pissed off that having standards is seen as arrogant when I dare to be fat and still want love, that not accepting every sexual advance makes me an uppity bitch who should be grateful that I aroused someone.

I don’t want to be special. I want to be human. I want to be judged on my personality, my intelligence and my warmth. I want to sit next to someone in a theater or on a plane without smashing myself into uncomfortable positions just to avoid being glared at should I dare to brush against your arm. My weight - and hell, my health - isn’t up for review. My stretch marks are not a whiteboard for your insecurities. My thighs are not a place to lay your pity, my arms are not the soundboard for your ridicule, and my breasts are not the gatekeepers of your sexuality. I experience life and love, pain and pleasure, elation and despair, arousal, satisfaction, disappointment, self-pity, rage, fear, doubt, depression, hope --- and yes, hunger, despite and in spite and because of my fat. Because I am not a billboard, I am not a cautionary tale, I am not a punchline or an example - not for you, not for anyone - because I am first and foremost a person living the human experience for as long as my heart beats.

And my fat is none of your fucking business.

Written by Jen O'Meara 

My Thoughts as a Pregnant Woman about Forgiving Myself

This is a post I wrote on the blog I was keeping throughout my pregnancy...little did I know that less 24 hours later, I would be admitted to the hospital and induced into labor...another story for another day. But this post is an example of how sometimes in pregnancy, like in any other aspect of life, things may not go how you plan and you have to accept that it's not always your fault, especially if you know and do your best.

 

Maybe not an epiphany, but…

…definitely a tough realization. I had “it” last night while talking to my sister…it was one of those things where you talk and talk so much that eventually something profound pops out of your mouth without even thinking about it.

I was explaining to my sister all the reasons why I want a completely unmedicated birth (in no particular order):
1) I want to avoid the slippery slope of unnecessary interventions. For example, if you are induced and they start you on Pitocin, your body is forced to labor before it is ready, which leads to much stronger and more painful contractions than you might have actually had if you had avoided the drugs. Now that the pain is SO strong, you feel like you need an Epidural, so you get one. the thing about an epidural (or any pain medication) is that it slows down your contractions, and before you know it, you’re being given MORE pitocin because you’ve plateaued or slowed down more than the hospital would like. The pain is back full force, so you get more pain medication. Lo and behold, the doctor walks in and tells you that the baby’s heartbeat has slowed/risen/become erratic, etc. and now you need an emergency c-section. What they won’t tell you is that the heartbeat got like that because the baby couldn’t handle the constant changes in the uterus due to the medications.  Now your baby is in danger and you need emergency surgery just because of one intervention that didn’t even need to happen.
2) It’s safer for the baby to labor naturally, not just because of the reasons I listed above, but because every medication you could be given (and there are LOTS of kinds, not just pitocin or an epidural) can leave your baby in a stupor for hours, even days after birth. I would rather bond with a baby that is more alert than know he has no clue who I am because I made sure he was born zonked out.
3) the most important reason in my gut is that I VALUE the hard work and dedication it takes to give birth naturally. I don’t know if it’s this city and it’s “get in, get out, get on with life” superficiality, or what…but there is ZERO support here for mothers that want to go natural. You’re likelier to be told you’re insane for trying (even by other moms) than receive any sort of support. There’s no natural-method birthing classes in the entire county, insurance doesn’t cover midwives (if you can FIND one), there’s no resources on cloth diapering or baby wearing…even breast-feeding past 3 months is weird and taboo here. I’ve spoken to two OBs and even hospital staff regarding my wishes for a natural birth, and every SINGLE time, I was answered that all my requests would depend on what drug(s) I was on at that particular stage of labor. So literally EVERY person I spoke to regarding my birth assumed that I would have some sort of drugs at some point of the labor, even when I had prefaced the conversation with “I want a natural birth, so…”

 I mentioned that earlier this week, I had a breakdown because I was so frustrated with the anxiety of the upcoming birth and not being able to plan for everything because every time I spoke to someone else about my birth plan, I was told at least a couple more things I could not count on having. While I was talking to my sister, I realized that my problem was the planning. I desperately want a natural, drug-free birth, but the fact is that all the books I’ve read on the topic and all the videos I’ve watched to prepare all assume that I will be among supportive people in an environment suitable for natural labor and delivery.

I am not. And I will not. And as much as I blame myself for that, it is unreasonable to because there’s nothing I can do about it.

The hospital requires continuous fetal monitoring. They don’t have wireless OR waterproof monitors. This means that once I am admitted to the hospital, I will literally be strapped to a bed in one position until I have the baby. In my original birth plan, I wanted to labor in a tub, or at least in a shower because I’ve found throughout the pregnancy that all my pains can be eased substantially with warm water. Well, there ARE no tubs, and I am not ALLOWED to shower until after the baby is out, “considering whatever drugs you’re on have worn off at that point”. Why? “Hospital rules.” That’s it. I’ve not once been given a legit medical reason why I can’t do X, Y, Z…all I get is “it’s hospital policy and they’re not flexible” which is basically they’re way of saying “don’t try to fight us on this, you’re going to lose.” In fact, I was even told by one of the doctors that if I want to labor in the shower, I better “stay at home as long as possible”. Hmm.

Because the hospital requires continuous monitoring, I am also not allowed to walk, squat, or otherwise change position at all because I cannot take the monitor off. Every resource I’ve come across says that changing positions can be the difference between tolerable and intolerable contractions, and that laying on your back is the absolute WORST and most PAINFUL way to labor. Well, that’s apparently the only choice I have.

I’ve been mentally preparing for the fact that labor is going to be hard and painful and will require a LOT of determination on my part, but that’s considering that I’d have the ability to labor in a way that would encourage or facilitate what I want/need. In my current situation, I’m fighting an uphill battle because I’m putting pressure on myself to do something that’s ALREADY so difficult, PLUS I have the hospital policy pushing back at me. It’s an uphill battle at best.

So what conclusion did I come to?

I cannot plan. I should not worry. I am as prepared as I can be, but I do not know what to expect, and I shouldn’t expect anything because it will only lead to disappointment if/when things don’t go the way I thought they would.

So I am still going to do my best to cope with the pain naturally using the techniques that I have been focusing on for months. But I am also trying to come to peace with the fact that I might feel I need pain medication, and that I shouldn’t hate myself or feel disappointed if I go that path. As it is right now, I know I will feel like an absolute failure if I opt for pain medication, but I realize I need to cut myself some slack because the hospital is literally making everything as backwards to what I need as they can, and there’s nothing I can do about that.

As soon as I said out loud to my sister that I should try to forgive myself in advance in case I DO opt for pain medications, a calm came over me. As long as Bu gets here healthy, I should focus on that and not HOW he got here, though I do still feel it’s so important to do my best and go natural for the both of us. I’m not 100% ok with being this flexible yet, but I can’t  regret something I haven’t even done yet, and if I DO do it, I can only use it as a learning experience for next time.

And by next time, I mean I am NEVER setting foot in an OB or hospital again when it comes to having children. I must find support for a more natural path here, otherwise I foresee all of Bu’s future siblings being born outside this city. This pregnancy has made so many beautiful things in my life, but it has also made me deeply dislike this city and it’s attitude, and I’d love nothing more than to give my children a chance to live AWAY from it and it’s influence.

Guest Post - "Cesarean SOLELY Due to Breech"

 In 2009, I was pregnant with my first daughter. It was a very uneventful pregnancy even though I gained about 50lbs during the 9 months making me 300lbs at the time of birth. She was head down from somewhere around 35 weeks till 42 and I was starting to dilate and efface. I went in to my 42 week OB appointment at which they did a U/S to check on the baby. Turned out she was had flipped to breech at 42 weeks.

It all happened so fast in the office, after they found out she was breech they wouldn't check me at all because suddenly now my only option was a c-section. The OB brought us into his office to talk about it and told me I was going to have a c-section because I was 42 weeks and she was breech, if she hadn't been breech they would have let me be. I started crying right there, I hadn't ever thought I would be having a c-section... I had a textbook perfect pregnancy and she had been head down!

I asked if there was anything we could do and I was told no. He told me to stop crying because I was crying for no reason at all but that didn't help, I knew this was a major surgery. I remember my husband commenting after we got out of there that he wanted to punch the OB because of how he was acting. He was very rude and made me feel stupid for crying when they told me I had to have a major abdominal surgery I had not been expecting. I cried off and on for the next two days, I was scared because I'd never had a surgery in my life and now I had to have this one. I had been looking forward to going into labor so I could meet my sweet little girl but now I was dreading giving birth.

When I showed up for the c-section they put me on monitors, checked that she was still breech and told me I was having contractions I just couldn't feel them yet. I was crying a little bit when she was born, I hadn't wanted it this way but she was healthy and I was going to be ok so I thought maybe that was all that mattered right then. I didn't find out about ECV (external cephalic version), spinningbabies.com or that I could have just not gone to the c-section because they can not do anything without your consent until after my surgery. I was so angry when I found out there had indeed been stuff I could have tried to turn her back to breech and avoided that surgery. I was angry that I never got to experience labor, I was angry at myself for having not switched OBs like I had thought about earlier in the pregnancy and vowed to never let myself be talked into another c-section.

I had learned that I couldn't just rely on the word of the people I was seeing, I had to research for myself these things and stand up for what I wanted so in 2013 I gave birth again this time vaginally because I had this previous experience my next one went exactly how I wanted. I didn't let anyone stand in my way, even went so far as not having a OB from 26weeks to 34weeks because the first OB tried to schedule me for a c-section at 40+3 days and I knew because of my older daughter that I likely wouldn't be going into labor till 42 weeks. I did what I had to to find someone who would support me properly so now I try to help other women out there by giving them the knowledge I didn't have during my first pregnancy to prevent them from having unnecessary c-sections.

Felicia is a mother of two little girls living in the Midwest.

Guest Post: "Baby After Bypass"

So I was fat. I still am fat (not that there's anything wrong with that!), but I was REALLY fat when I was little. I was born and raised in Jersey and I have a stubborn German for a father and a pile of moosh n' love for a mother. I heard a lot of crap from my dad about being heavy. "Put the food down." "You'll die big you know." "Try to lose weight so you can play with your friends..." I don't ever think he meant anything bad by it, but it really took a toll. And as for my mom: "lets go get ice cream so you won't be sad anymore.." (you can see how this snowballs, right?)

When I entered high school I had already had years of bullying. As if being big wasn't enough, I had pimples, I wore glasses, and I had super short hair. I was a target for sure. But as I went to doctors for check ups, we realized one thing: weighing 380 pounds when you were 15 years old was pretty darn unhealthy. It was literally killing me and I was scared.

Around this time gastric bypass was pretty knew, but something drastic needed done. I had all the visits and analyzing one could ever want, and I was in. I was going to get the Roux-En-Y gastric bypass procedure on December 13th, 2002. I went under the knife and came out alive. AND SUPER GASSY! In one week I lost 36 pounds. In one month I lost 90. In 6 months I lost 200 pounds. I could finally walk up the stairs and not be in pain and out of breath. My life had changed for the better.
I did have some complications but they were minor. I still have skin, 10 years later, that I'd like gone, but I'm married now and my husband loves me for what I am and he thinks I'm sexy. (I met my husband on match.com and said hello because I thought his beard was AWESOME. It was love at first beard )

My husband and I said we wanted a family and we started TTC in january of 2012. Frustrated 3 months later we were told to relax and grab some champagne. We did...and voila! Pregnant! I had some concerns having had the surgery and being pregnant. Also, trying to conceive wasnt difficult and it was fun my husband is big too so our positions are limited but our energy never is! We wanted a baby so bad so we tried all the time. The surgery had no impact on our ability to conceive.

 I asked all the doctors if I was safe and how to get my calories in. NOTHING that went in my mouth could be crap calories. Everything I ate had to be good for me and for baby. So that's what I did.
Everything I had was high in protein and I ate many small meals through the day. I drank protein too, tried to cut back on coffee (so hard!), and tried not to head to fast food too often. I did have my fair share of ice cream and pickles for sure, but I did crave healthy things too which helped a lot. I had a complication free pregnancy: no gestational diabetes, no problems whatsoever. I kept myself in check and made sure to do things right. This baby was too important to my husband and I.

In February I gave birth to a chubby 7 pound 13 ounce boy: Edward Remy. I was in labor for 2 hours before fully dilated, and pushed for 18 minutes until he came into this world. He truly is the most amazing thing. My husband and I can't wait to have another!

The gastric bypass was harder to deal with when it was initially done. I was young and didn't follow "the rules" like I should have, but I managed to keep the weight down (although I gained back a little bit). Once I got pregnant I didn't want anything to damage my tummy or my baby, so I kept in close contact with the gastric doctors and they helped me a lot. I would do BOTH of these things again if given the chance. I've never looked back!

This story was shared by Molly, momma of one from Levittown, PA. Molly is the owner of MollyCakes Bakery, find out more about her awesome cakes here.

Guest Post: “It was the worst of times…. Another infertility story”

There is a deep feeling of pain every month, one you hopefully will not become used to. But for many of us, it’s all to familiar a feeling: you got your period this month, again.

We had hit the 18 month mark before I had to stop counting. For the first few months, aunt flow came with all my familiar cramps and pains, and I would smile through the rest of the week with shrug: it was healthy not to get pregnant right away. Then the second half of that next year, I would get a little more down trodden, but I had nowhere to turn. By the end of the first year, I was a mess every month when the “crimson tide” started, because I knew it meant one thing…Not pregnant yet.

I didn’t have a lot of support. My family thought I was too young to start a family: every time it came up, the infamous “I’m too young to be a grandma” would rear its head, and I would just smile and nod, pretending that I wasn’t doing everything I could to get knocked up. My husband didn’t truly understand my anguish, because as a man you just don’t worry about these kinds of things. My girlfriends all had different agendas, finishing school and finding careers. My first doctor shrugged me off as a fat, young girl that needed to hold her horses. At 23, I was hit with this feeling that I would not ever get the family I had dreamed of as a kid.

I watched friend after friend post new baby updates, and with each one, I found the “hide” setting. I wanted to be happy for them, but I couldn’t be happy. My husband’s close friend from work had a new baby boy, and I broke down in our bedroom before going to see them, while he watched not sure what to say. A cousin in the family got pregnant: no job, not married, not readily paying her bills and moved back home with her mom shortly after finding out she was pregnant- and hasn’t left- and it was all on accident. Barely out of high school, she couldn’t take care of herself, much less the dead-beat father she was trying to support and a new baby. But she was given the greatest miracle in the world, to be a mom, and I was a bitter because I wanted it to be me!

It broke my heart. I cried myself to sleep. I laid awake guilt ridden at all hours of the night. I kept a journal about how unfair it all was, and how broken I felt. No matter how much I tried, or how much I wanted to get pregnant, my body just wouldn’t. I watched the months tick by, and knew that all these “delays” were adding up. It would make the difference between my husband’s Grandmother meeting our daughter –he was her favorite grandson- because her health did not allow her to stay with us that long. I blamed myself a lot, and brought myself down. I let myself hit the lowest of lows, truly believed that this was just not going to happen for us. In order to write this post, I went back through those old journals, and it made my heart hurt all over again.

I have mild PCOS: the cysts on my ovaries were not very large, and the extra chemical progesterone was only mildly over what it should have been. We had my thyroid tested, and all came back clear. I could grow facial hair like my husband, and had gained weight over the years that I really didn’t link up with the PCOS until now. I was one of the lucky ones, where in a 12 month span, I would only skip a period 2 or 3 times because I hadn’t ovulated that month. My first doctor did not run additional tests at all, other than the basic ultrasound, and left me with the diagnosis to see her again in a year and lose weight. Notice how I said first… if you don’t like or agree with your doctor now, do you think you will later, when you do get pregnant? Ditch any negative nancies now, and find a new OB/GYN that is willing to help!

After the close to two years of trying of trying, I really stopped counting. I looked up adoption, starting writing up a biography about us, and started looking up what kind of fees I would need to pay, and how I was going to save up for them. I forced my husband to see his doctor –and let me remind every one of you beautiful, hurting ladies: it takes two to tango here! His test results were similar to mine: again, we were sent away with a diagnosis of lose weight, try harder, and then it’ll work. I then turned into some sort of monster: I blamed him for not taking his vitamins, drinking one more soda than he should have, putting his left shoe on before his right… Things that were totally unrelated became a bullet point on my vendetta list. I went from sobbing emotional sad-sack to bitter bitch-zilla in a 10 minute span (influenced mildly by Clomid) and I was not fun to be around, even to myself, I would realize later.

I won’t sit here and tell you what the magic trick is to being okay with not being okay. Take a moment to yourself, don’t just pretend and smile through the day. There are days you are going to need to cry it all out, nights you just need loud music, or a quiet hot bath. It gets much harder before it will ever be easier, but it does make victory so much sweeter. Here’s the thing: you can throw as much as you want into your fertility, but there’s never a guarantee that it’ll be enough. Take each month in stride, make positive changes, and do what you can to help yourself.

I’m no expert, but I do have some experience in the area. If your doctor is unwilling to help you, there are a lot of things you can do to help yourself. Start by knowing as much as you can about fertility: learn how to track your cycles, find those ‘super foods’ the internet talks about, cut out the bad things from your life, like smoking, before you begin to try. My favorite book was “The Impatient Woman's Guide to Getting Pregnant” by Heidi Murkoff. I read it three times through or more. There’s certainly a lot to learn, and a lot to change. Because it takes two, you also want to help your partner make changes too: quitting smoking, reducing alcohol and coffee intake, even switching to different underwear. I highly suggest you both take a prenatal vitamin: part of this suggestion though, I would use an empty bottle of vitamin whatever and fill it with prenatals, if your partner isn’t as on board as you are. Folic acid for him is equally as good as it is for you! Sperm is, however, made in advance, so what you are using today was actually “created” 3 months prior. Changes on your partners side will take effect 2 to 3 months later.

Use the time you have before being pregnant to do things you wanted to learn to do: I am thankful I had a chance to learn to crochet before we had baby-on-board. I got a second dog, and trained him before we got pregnant (another blessing in so many ways!). I could financially prepare for what we were going to need, and the delay was a good thing,  that allowed my husband to change jobs to something more reliable, with a higher wage which was nice too. Maybe it’s a trip to Hawaii you’ve always been dreaming of, or learning professional photography. Keep your partners feelings in mind too: maybe there’s something he would like to do before baby too, and squeeze these simple pleasures and new hobbies in beforehand. For secondary infertility, enjoy your first child just a little longer. Make a few fun outings that you don’t normally, like a road trip to the beach, and just enjoy their excitement. Soon, you’ll have to try to find time for two, and you’ll miss these days.

In the end, do what makes sense to you. Your mind knows what it wants. If you just need to rant, or cry, or hit something, find a constructive way to do it! You are doing all you can, and good things really do take time. Surround yourself with people you can talk to, doctors whom you trust and respect their advice, and who are there to help you through your struggle, not just shrug you off with a “lose weight” or “get older” verdict. There is no magic trick to getting pregnant, no wonderful pill you can take and make it easier. Anyone who has never had trouble getting pregnant has no idea what it feels like, and they give bad advice –take it with a grain of salt. Talk about it, even if it’s just to a word document on your computer, or a notebook at home, and let go of all your frustrations and unwind! You are not ever, ever alone in this journey!

So, my last piece of advice. Go into the bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror. Tell yourself that “We are going to do this!”. Repeat every day. You really are going to be able to do this, in your body’s own time. And, that feeling every month? It makes it totally worth it in the end!



Amanda P. is a soon-to-be mom from Arizona. She works at an airline call center and also has a website that you can check out here. Sending Amanda lots of well wishes, as she is due to give birth February 2014!

Gestational Diabetes - Now What? (3/3)

So you've been told you have Gestational Diabetes...now what happens?

Usually, the first line of treatment is a diet/meal plan. There is an example of one here. The thing about GD meal plans is that they make a great structure for what your diet should be like in pregnancy anyway! I am not saying "diet" as in "plan to lose weight", I mean "diet" as in "the food you take in". You're building a whole new body within your own, so it can't hurt to eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, whole grains and lean proteins. These will be the building blocks of someone else's (your baby's) entire organism! Just that thought was enough for me personally to start eating more whole foods and less processed junk.

It is also recommended hat one exercise daily, even a brisk walk after ever meal. Exercising increases the muscle tissue sensitivity to insulin, which helps your body metabolize sugar. Ideally, a woman would be on an exercise program before and during pregnancy not just for overall health (at ANY size), but because this is the more surefire way to help your body metabolize. No amount of exercise will keep you from developing GD (as one cannot control their ethnicity or family history), but it can definitely help in its management.

You may also be asked to monitor your blood glucose levels several times a day, usually fasting first thing in the morning and after every meal. The reason for this is to check for patterns and look for any spikes in blood sugar. This can give care providers a window into how you metabolize sugars regularly, outside of a lab setting. High sugars after eating could signal that a change in diet is needed.

High sugars in the morning, however, may signal that the body is overall not metabolizing sugar, and a doctor may then suggest a regimen of medication. The most common form of medically treating gestational diabetes is with insulin injections, which are self administered, usually directly into the belly. Obviously, one is taught how to do this by professionals so that the baby is never in any harm due to the injections. Another alternative is pills, such as glyburide and metformin.

 I hope this series has helped answer some questions about what Gestational Diabetes is and what it really means. I will be sharing a guest post soon about a readers experience with Gestational Diabetes, and I hope if anyone has any questions or would like to share your own experience, you will please comment or email me. Thank you!

Gestational Diabetes - How is it diagnosed? (2/3)

How is the test administered? A one-hour test screens for (but does not diagnose) gestational diabetes mellitus (GDM). If your blood sugar levels seem high after a one-hour test, you'll have to come back for more gestational diabetes testing.The best method for diagnosing gestational diabetes is taking a glucose test (glucose tolerance test). The test measures how the body reacts to a large amount of glucose (sugar).

According to The US National Library of Medicine: "For this test you will drink a glass of water that contains 50 grams of dissolved sugar. You do not need to fast beforehand. One hour later, blood will be taken from a vein in your arm to determine the blood sugar level. If the value is below 7.5 millimoles per liter (mmol/L, about 135 mg/dL), the results are considered normal and no more testing is done.
If an elevated level is found in the glucose challenge test, it is still not considered a final diagnosis. It only serves to determine which women will be offered a second and final test. This second test, called the oral glucose tolerance test, is more involved. For the test, the pregnant woman must fast beforehand, which means not eating or drinking anything but water for at least eight hours. The first step in this test is taking blood. After this the woman drinks a sugar solution containing 75 grams of glucose. Blood is taken from an arm vein again after one hour and after two hours. If any of the following three blood sugar values is exceeded, gestational diabetes will be diagnosed:

• After fasting: 5.1 mmol/L (92 mg/dL)
• After one hour: 10.0 mmol/L (180 mg/dL)
• After two hours: 8.5 mmol/L (153 mg/dL)" 

Testing for Gestational Diabetes can be done as early as 8 weeks in women that have certain risk factors, and is done routinely on all women at about 28 weeks gestation. Interestingly, however, not all women NEED to be tested for diabetes during pregnancy.
 
According to pregnancy.com:

"One of the most intriguing recommendations is that a woman may not need laboratory testing to screen for GD if she meets all of the following criteria:

• less than 25 years old
• not a member of a racial or ethnic group with a high prevalence of diabetes (eg, Hispanic, African, Native American, South or East Asian, or Pacific Islands ancestry)
• a body mass index (BMI) 25
• no history of abnormal glucose tolerance
• no previous history of adverse pregnancy outcomes usually associated with GDM
• no known diabetes in first-degree relative

Women who are at a higher risk for GDM usually have one of the following risk factors:

• age
• ethnicity
• obesity
• family history of diabetes
• past obstetric history"

 Before testing, you should eat normally for the few days prior. Women used to be told to eat less carbs or sugar in the days before their test, but that could just make your body react more aggressively to the glucose in the drink, giving a false higher result. If you are opposed to drinking loads of sugar water and various other chemicals, you can arrange to eat a specific breakfast and have your blood drawn at an interval following your meal instead. Many doctors frown upon such a request, but it is your right to request it.  
 
My own experience and advice for others that are deemed "borderline" like I was: I demanded a retest and that one came back ok but they were "concerned", so I compromised and told them I'd do my best to follow a GD diet and I'd monitor my sugars for a couple of weeks to "put their minds at ease". I figured I could use healthy eating guidelines anyway (though I did still have my daily vanilla ice cream cone) and when monitoring was all good, they left me alone. They insisted I get urine/ketosis sticks and keep a food log which I was meant to fax to them, but I did neither because EFF THAT, THEY'RE NOT MY MOMMA.

I had a bit of a rebellious streak during my pregnancy as you can tell ;) But honestly, I think it's a fair compromise and it'll give you AND the doctors a chance to see how your sugars are doing in the real world over time, rather than just once during a lab test. And then I think no matter what happens, everyone will have peace of mind that they're making the right decision on how to proceed; whether your sugars really ARE high or not. This was something I did in order to appease my doctors because I had one slightly elevated level on my test but otherwise showed no symptoms, but you can also request to have this several-times-a-day self-monitoring in place of the glucose challenge. Again, your doctor might fight you on this request, but as I mentioned previously, this is the best way to get a REAL WORLD view of your glucose metabolism, which is much more accurate than a one-time lab setting.

In the next last post on GD, I will discuss the various ways that Gestational Diabetes can be treated if you are, in fact, diagnosed with GD after your tests.