Amnio

The following is a rant I wrote this afternoon to my father, himself a doctor, following today's amniocentesis.

Please bear in mind that when I was 18 I had Hodgekin's Disease, a type of lymph cancer. I was diagnosed at a teaching hospital (Kingston General) and treated at a teaching hospital (Tom Baker Cancer Centre of the Foothills Hospital) and was, for my entire cancer experience, very cognizant of my role in assisting medical students and residents learn about my type of cancer. I was a very cooperative and genial patient. As such it was not uncommon for my tests to be attended by gaggles of medical students, and my checkups to be rounds of telling my background over and over to residents who'd guess at my condition until someone finally got it right. I was repeatedly thanked for my attitude and willingness to be a guinea pig.

That was then. Now, I'm older, I feel I've done my time, and I just want to go home. I want the real doctor to be my attending and if someone wants to watch, that's... okay with me, but please, don't touch. I am no longer the willing guinea pig.

Which leads to today's rant.

Dad -

So, I'll start with this, just this:

I think it is outright wrong to tell people in the amnio prep seminar that the clinic doctors are all fully qualified perinatalogist blah blah blahs who have each done QUOTE "tens of thousands" of amnios, but, then when the door opens, in come TWO doctors, one of whom is obviously the perinatalogist blah blah blah guy and the other is absolutely giving off WAVES of Inexperience. At this point in my career as a patient I can smell a student a mile away.

This perinatalogy Fellow proceeds to smear an absolutely unnecessary amount of sterile dye from stem to stern before she prod-prod-prods around in concert with the ultrasound deciding on an entry point. And then, of course, with a great deal of deliberation and slowness in general p-u-u-u-u-u-u-ts in the needle and p-o-o-o-o-o-okes it through the uterine wall and swi-i-i-i-i-i-rls it round and round and round and round and round until even Turner knew that she wasn't doing it right. I had to force my eyes closed because I was going to kill her with my newfound eyebeam lasers.

I was within about three seconds of saying, "I think that's enough, could the other doctor please do this?", when I guess it was finally sufficiently clear that she just wasn't getting it right, and the perinatalogist blah blah blah guy decided to take over. He had to take it out and start over from the beginning: pushing the needle into the abdomen and through the wall of the uterus, to squiggle it around bouncing off my spleen and ovaries and spine AGAIN. At least it was quick, the second time.

But Dad, and here is my issue, it is wrong, saying in the seminar that they're all so good and they're all fully qualified and then sending in someone who is clearly still learning what to do. That is wrong advertising, wrong all around. It's an uncomfortable, somewhat painful, rather scary test to begin with, and then they add the extra factor of having to deal with someone else's learning experience. I was livid angry by the end. I should have said something right at the beginning, when she was smearing the dye and I could tell, I KNEW she wasn't the attending. I should've just said that I'd prefer the perinatalogist blah blah blah guy do it please, and follow up with the whole yes-I-appreciate-the-teaching-hospital-thing-but-I've-been-the-good-lab-rat-thanks-and-I'd-really-prefer-the-attending-please spiel.

I think I would probably feel differently if I hadn't been such a willing pincushion when I had cancer, but I really really REALLY feel like I've "done my bit for science" at this point and I'd like to have the following plastered onto my forehead in gentian violet for my next hospital visit: RESIDENTS, FELLOWS AND ALL OTHER "LEARNERS" - KINDLY FUCK OFF AND GO PRACTICE ON SOMEONE ELSE... PERHAPS START ON AN ORANGE.

...That said, once I had my big cry in the bathroom afterward and got all my hate out, it was ok.


Alright, I'm ready, bring out the knives.

Categories: Ash | Pregnancy

Comments [3]

The Great Wrap Dress Search, Part One

Sloaner and I drove all over the south side of the city yesterday afternoon doing errands. You know... library, groceries, high-end-cooking store to pick up a Henckel garlic press... the usual.

I ended up going to that maternity store in Willow Park Village to look for a wrap-around dress for Sister Ains. Now, you should know that I hate the lady who works in that store. The first time I'd ever been in there was last year, around this time. I was four months pregnant, and Dad marched me down there before Ainsley's wedding with the intention of making me pick out "a pantsuit". I did not want "a pantsuit". I embellish not in the least when I say that I was in a foul mood that day.

So later, thinking back on the experience, I was willing to consider that my temper might have played a role in the impression I had of the woman who works in that store. Skinny, cooler-than-thou, and really not all that interested in selling the items the store has to offer, I came away with what's called a "bad impression" of that lady. She reminded me of those bitchy girls in junior high who never talked and had the trendiest pencilcases. The kind who grew up into women who wore really high boots with pointy heels, and who never found their friendly place in life.

But as the pregnancy months wore on and I was starting to nest and look for various items for the baby and whatnot (and, hell, possibly another pair of pants), I decided to give that store another try. I went in very consciously with a fresher, more positive attitude, taking a page out of all those affirmation books that say you create your own experiences and teach people how to treat you with your outlook... And she completely sucked, again.

Obviously a woman who has no children and intends never to become pregnant herself, I don't know if she's the manager or the owner or just a minimum wage schmuck with a huge attitude, this clerk leaves a seriously negative taste in the shopping mouth. In our birth-prep class, the ladies and I ended up in those inevitable conversations about the maternity shopping experience around Calgary. And to a one, we'd independently all arrived at the same conclusion: the lady who works at that store totally sucks. Essentially she gives the average pregnant person the impression that you're fat, and rich, and stupid, and to please get out of the shop.

Now, admittedly, the people who usually frequent Willow Park Village are, for the most part, those walking-too-fast frosted-haired frappalattechino-carrying lululemon'd wife-dolls, yes. And I have this suspicion (unconfirmed) that they get treated just fine when they walk into that store all coiffed and radiant with their requisite 0.91 pregnancy, looking to lay down the Avion Gold card and walk out with one of those $125 Petunia Picklebottom diaper bags. So real people with real budgets and real bodies are out of place somewhat in that milieu, I'll grant you.

But goddammit, I was forced to go back again after Sloane was born, when it was deduced via internet research that the swaddle blanket I wanted to buy was available ONLY at that damn store. I don't even need to tell you she sucked again, but I will: the lady who works in that store sucked again.

By that point I'm thinking, c'mon, this store isn't that busy. I've spent money in here every time I came in, very obviously out of desperation and against my better judgement. Don't you like my money? Don't me and my money look somewhat familiar, now that I've been in here five times in five months? Do you think you could kiss my ass just a little bit? 

In any case, I am a stoopid dumbass, and in the search for a dress for Ains, I tried that store yet again yesterday. The things I do out of love and devotion to my sister. I went in and avoided the girl, and started looking through the dresses. Finally we had the conversation:

Her:    [calling from the till. There's no one else in the store.] What are you looking for?

Ash:    Uh... a dress. I'm looking for a wrap-style dress.

Her:    [shaking her head] We don't have any.

Ash:    Oh. [Looking back at a rack I'd already been through.] Well, are you sure? I already saw one just in that rack, there.

Her:    No, there wouldn't have been one there. [Deigning to come over]

Ash:    [Going back to the rack with the wrap dress] Yes. This one. This style is what I'm looking for, but not exactly this colour...

Her:    That's not a wrap dress.

Ash:    [looking at the dress, seeing the wrap style] ...Uh... okay... whatever you'd like to call this style, where it wraps around the body and it's a dress... I guess that's what I'm looking for.

Her:    Yes, see, that's not a wrap dress.

Ash:    [Calm, still calm.] Okay. Whatever this style is called, that's what I'm looking for.

Her:    [Going over to a different rack, pulling out a knitted poncho] This is a wrap... we don't have any in a dress "style", though.

Ash:    [Looking, trying to stay polite.] Yeah... I don't really want that sort of thing. I'm looking for a dress for my sister. She's looking for a wrap dress that wraps around the body. [Showing, miming wrapping ties around the body, front to back.] On the internet they're called "wrap" dresses. I guess you and I are just using the same word for different styles. I'm looking for a dress like the one back there [pointing back at the wrap dress on the first rack].

Her:   No. We don't have any.

Ash:    ...Fine. Thank you.

Her:    Mm-hm. [Leaving to go back to the till]

Ash:    YOU SUCK!! [Stomping out.]

Okay, so I didn't really yell 'you suck'. But she would deserve it, if someone did yell that. She does suck.

And Ains, I couldn't find a dress for you yesterday - I'll keep looking.

Categories: Calgary | Family | Pregnancy

Comments [8]

More Videos (Plus, in QuickTime)

(Posted by Brother John)

I've noticed that some of you can't view the movies because you don't have Microsoft Windows Media Player installed. My apologies. I have converted all of the movies to QuickTime format, plus I've added two new movies. Enjoy.

Movie #1: Prior to leaving for the hospital (first time) (Windows Media, 1.9 MB, Quicktime, 3 MB)
Movie #2: Ashley experiencing a contraction; Turner and Ashley's plan of notifying friends via e-mails and such, ruined (Windows Media, 1.6 MB, Quicktime, 2.5 MB)
Movie #3: The morning after; Visiting Ashley & Turner this morning after nine hours of labour (Windows Media, 8.2 MB, Quicktime, 15.5 MB)
Movie #4: The weather outside; for the baby's reference, later in life (Windows Media, 796 KB, Quicktime, 940 KB)
Movie #5: Chatting with Ashley about the labour (Windows Media, 5.2 MB, Quicktime, 9.6 MB)
Movie #6: A message for the baby (Windows Media, 2.2 MB, Quicktime, 3.5 MB)
Movie #7: The heart monitor (Windows Media, 1.7 MB, Quicktime, 2.9 MB)
Movie #8: Hello, Sloane! (Windows Media, 4.1 MB, Quicktime, 7.4 MB)
Movie #9: Parents' reaction (Windows Media, 2 MB, Quicktime, 3.2 MB)
Movie #10: More highlights of Sloane (Windows Media, 8.5 MB, Quicktime, 14.5 MB)
Movie #11: Even more highlights of Sloane (Windows Media, 5.4 MB, Quicktime, 8.6 MB)
Movie #12: The family visit (Windows Media, 3.8 MB, Quicktime, 8.4 MB)
Movie #13: More of the family visit (Windows Media, 771 KB, Quicktime, 1.4 MB)

Categories: Family | Pregnancy

Comments [0]

Photos!

(Posted by Brother John)

I feel so much better. After sleeping like a rock last night, I awoke to the fact that we have a new addition to the family. So freakin' cool!

I just spent the past 30 minutes uploading photos. They are available for viewing here. (I've added two sub-albums; "The Delivery" and "The Delivery Room Digs".)

Mom, Fiona, and I will be heading back to the hospital later this morning. I'll be armed with my digital camera for more photos.

Categories: Family | Pregnancy

Comments [12]

A New Member of the Clan

(Posted by Brother John)

Say "hello" to Turner and Ashley's daughter:

Categories: Family | Married Life | Pregnancy

Comments [3]

It's Baby Time!

(All posts by Brother John)

Ashley and Turner are off to the Rockyview Hospital. Ashley's in labour. But she's in great spirits.

UPDATE (March 19th, 2005 - 1:04 AM)

We're back from the Rockyview Hospital. Ashley has told me that she's currently dilated about 2-3 cms. The doctor has informed us that Ashley will have to return in about 2-3 hours. However, it's anyone's guess as to how long it will take until Ashley is ready to give birth. In the meantime, I've started a photo journal for tonight here.

Movie #1: Prior to leaving for the hospital (first time) (1.9 MB)
Movie #2: Ashley experiencing a contraction; Turner and Ashley's plan of notifying friends via e-mails and such, ruined. (1.6 MB)

UPDATE (March 19th, 2005 - 2:50 AM)

I just received a phone call from Mom stating we're headed back to the hospital. Ashley is experiencing significant labour pains now. Here we go!

UPDATE (March 19th, 2005 - 9:15 AM)

My apologies for the delay. I just woke up.

Ashley's water broke earlier this morning at around 3:30 AM. Shortly afterward, she vomitted. According to the on-site nursing staff, all of this was perfectly normal and indicated a healthy labour. The only thing that was a cause for concern was the fact that they found "poop in the contents of the Ashley's water break". There's a medical term for this and I can't remember it right now. My apologies. Basically, it meant that the doctors and nurses would have to watch the baby closely before and after its delivery.

At about 4:15 AM, they transferred Ashley to the delivery ward were she would spend the next five hours going through - what I would describe as - mildly intense labour. Personally speaking, I had never seen Ashley in this much deep pain before, except for when she was undergoing radiation treatment for cancer back in the mid 1990's. Fortunately, Turner was doing a stellar job of rubbing Ashley's back for each contraction she experienced. Appartently, this helped Ashley to bare the pain.

While in the delivery room, they attached a baby monitor to Ashley. The heart rate was below normal; approximately 130 hearbeats per minute. However, the doctor said that it wasn't anything to worry about it at this point.

I left the hospital at 5:45 AM, leaving Ashley and Turner in good shape. Ashley was about to recieve an epidural. I recieved a phone call at 7:30 AM that Ashley would be delivering in about an hour. To use military terminology for a second, "we have a 'green' light." Everything looks good as this point.

I will be leaving for the hospital shortly. I will try to post an update ASAP.

UPDATE (March 19th, 2005 - 5:46 PM)

It's a girl! Hooray!

Mom and I just got home from the hospital. Both of us are absolutely exhausted.

Not to worry, I have photos and more movies, which I will be posted momentarily. Hang tight.

UPDATE (March 19th, 2005 - 6:30 PM)

Movies first. (Warning: Some of these videos contain course language and material.)

Movie #3: The Morning After; Visiting Ashley & Turner this morning after 9 hours of labour (8.5 MB)
Movie #4: The Weather Outside; for the baby's reference, later in life (796 KB)
Movie #5: Chatting with Ashley about the labour (5.2 MB)
Movie #6: A message for the baby (2.2 MB)
Movie #7: The heart monitor (1.7 MB)
Movie #8: The baby! The baby! (4.1 MB)
Movie #9: Parents' reaction (2 MB)
Movie #10: More baby highlights (8.51 MB)
Movie #11: Even more baby highlights (5.41 MB)

UPDATE (March 19th, 2005 - 6:36 PM)

Here's the blow-by-blow action of today's events:

9:55 AM: I arrive at the hospital to find out that Ashley is fully dilated but has not started pushing. I'm currently sitting in the waiting room, hoping to hear from the hospital staff soon. I'm sure Ashley is doing great.
10:15 AM: Turner comes out to meet me. He looks tired but much less stressed. I follow him into the delivery room.
10:16 AM: Ashley looks great, Mom's in good spirits, and Turner is tired but looks to be very happy. Ashley is fully dilated and will be ready to start pushing soon. According to Ashley, the epidural is a God-send. She's much more comfortable now.
10:41 AM: The nurse just left. She's informed Ashley that she'll start pushing at 11 AM or so.
10:47 AM: Nurse: "13 minutes rest..." (Ashley laughs and promptly falls asleep.)
10:54 AM: Waiting, waiting...
11:02 AM: Ashley wakes. Nurse arrives. It's time to get ready to push. Nurse adjusts the bed. It looks like Ashley will use a squatting bar.
11:30 AM: Ashley is pushing. She's in great spirits. "[This] seems so much different than the first part, which is to just survive it (the labour)."
11:58 AM: Ashley is still pushing. She's making excellent progress. The baby is currently exhibiting heart rate decelerations (called "d-cells") when Ashley pushes; nothing too much to worry about.
12:00 PM: Turner is an excellent coach. For every push, Turner counts eight beats.
12:02 PM: Ashley: "I'm starting to feel a little shaky." Mom: "Do you need some sugar?" Ashley: "Yeah, that would be great." Mom leaves the Mom to grab some soda.
12:03 PM: A member of the hospital staff enters the room. He informs us that, in the past 10 minutes, two girls have been delivered in other rooms. (Cool!)
12:04 PM: Dad enters the room. "Sorry I'm late. Emerg[ency] is all over the place." (Dad is a radiologist who's working on-site today.) Dad tells Ashley, "[relatives and friends] are calling from all over. They're cheering you on."
12:07 PM: The baby's heart rate is around 140-155 beats per minute.
12:13 PM: Ashley's a little chilly. Mom runs to grab blankets. (Ashley is doing so well.)
12:16 PM: Ashley pushes some more.
12:18 PM: Nurse: "The baby's head is still a fair way's in. But you're a great pusher. [...] You're doing very well."
12:20 PM: Ashley hits the epidural button. (She's experiencing some pain, but not a great deal.)
12:21 PM: Another push.
12:22 PM: Nurse: "You'll be here another couple of hours after the baby is born."
12:23 PM: Another push.
12:24 PM: Another push.
12:26 PM: Another push.
12:27 PM: Apple juice request from Ashley.
12:27 PM: Ashley: "I can't wait to have sushi."
12:28 PM: Another push. Ashley: "Come on little Coney Island." (I don't know what this means.)
12:29 PM: Ashley: "I feel so good. That [apple juice] helps so much." (Mom laughs.)
12:30 PM: Baby's heartbeat is about 135 beats per minute.
12:31 PM: Another push. (Turner's got this coaching thing nailed.)
12:32 PM: Ashley: "This is like going to a spa for your perineum."
12:33 PM: Ashley looks outside. "It's like we're at some hospital in rural Connecticut." It's currently snowing in Calgary. The view from the window looks out on the Glenmore rest
12:33 PM: Another push.
12:34 PM: Baby's heart rate is approximately 135 beats per minute.
12:36 PM: Dad enters the room. Apparently, Nanny is a little nervous. (Yep, we're getting calls from all over the country.)
12:37 PM: Another push.
12:37 PM: Turner: "Well, we all know that Nanny would find out somehow." (Ashley laughs.)
12:38 PM: Another push.
12:38 PM: Dad: "I have a thought for you. Pretend it's your Dad yelling at you from the sidelines during one of your soccer games."
12:40 PM: Another push.
12:40 PM: Dad leaves. On the way out, he smiles and says, "Come on, push!" (Ashley laughs.) Ashley: "Yes, sir."
12:43 PM: Another push. According to the nurse, the baby's head is about a finger's length from the opening. She can see the head.
12:44 PM: Nurse: "You're doing great, Ashley."
12:44 PM: John: "I'm personally hoping that this baby is male... in a long list of females." (I have two sisters and 15 cousins, all female. I'm the last male "Bristowe" to carry on the family name.)
12:46 PM: Another push. Nurse: "It won't be long..."
12:48 PM: Baby's heart rate is approximately 137 beats per minute.
12:48 PM: Another push.
12:49 PM: Nurse: "Yep. You're doing well, Ashley."
12:51 PM: Another push.
12:54 PM: Another push.
12:58 PM: More nurses enter the room. Nurse: "Looks like Ashley's doing well."
12:59 PM: Another push.
1:00 PM: Nurse: "Ashley's a very good pusher." Ashley: "It's all the peeing that I do."
1:00 PM: Ashley's temperature is currently 37.2°C.
1:03 PM: Another push. Nurse: "Come on, Teresa." (Ashley exhales.) Ashley: "Ashley." Nurse: "Oh, I'm sorry. I was thinking of my friend, Teresa." (Ashley smiles.)
1:05 PM: Another push. Turner: "Good job, Ash."
1:05 PM: Ashley: "Why can't they keep these rooms at a humane temperature?"
1:06 PM: Another push.
1:08 PM: Another push.
1:09 PM: Another push.
1:10 PM: Dad arrives. "Is this child ever going to go to school? Or, are we going to leave it in kindergarten here?"
1:13 PM: Another push.
1:14 PM: Dad leaves.
1:15 PM: Nurse: "You've been pushing for about two hours and 15 minutes."
1:16 PM: Another push.
1:17 PM: The baby's bed is made by the nurses. Nurse: "A nice, warm bed to jump into."
1:18 PM: Doctor enters the room. Doctor: "We're going to see where you're at. If it's low enough, I can vacuum. There's a lot of ‘cappa'." (I'm not sure what "cappa" is.)
1:20 PM: Doctor suggests that Ashley should relax and rest since there hasn't been much progress thus far. Doctor leaves to get the obstetrician. The baby might be delivered using forceps.
1:23 PM: Another push.
1:25 PM: Ashley is resting now. She appears tired.
1:26 PM: The obstetrician, Dr. Allen, enters the room.
1:27 PM: Obstetrician: "The baby's in a good position. He's a little squished in there. I'm just going to feel to see how much he comes down during your next contraction, OK?"
1:28 PM: Another push.
1:28 PM: It's a bit of a tight squeeze. We have three options: 1) Continue pushing, 2) Vacuum or forceps, 3) Caesarean section.
1:32 PM: The doctor is explaining the options available for Ashley.
1:34 PM: It looks like Ashley will undergo a trial using forceps and if unsuccessful, a Caesarean section.
2:57 PM: Mom and I are sitting in the waiting room. Ashley (and Turner) has been in the operating room for approximately 20 minutes. I called a few friends and family to provide them with an update. We have asked Turner to come out and provide us with an update once the procedure is complete.
3:06 PM: Dr. Allan just walked past. He said, "Everything went fine." (Hooray!) He said that Turner would be out momentarily to tell us how it went.
3:08 PM: Mom: "This is torture. Why won't they tell us what happened?"
3:16 PM: No news yet.
3:30 PM: It's a girl! Wahoo!

Official time of birth: 2:37 PM
Official weight: 8 lbs. 7 oz.

Categories: Family | Married Life | Pregnancy

Comments [26]

And Purely For My Amusement...

Thanks to Brother John and Fiona for the newest addition to our kid paraphenalia collection... modelled here, a breastfeeding pillow!

Categories: Family | Pregnancy

Comments [11]

The Super-Deluxe Don't-Give-Birth-Without-It Glider Chair

A few months ago Mom said she was interested in giving me a rocking chair to make my whole late pregnancy/early motherhood experience a bit more humane. In fact, she made it clear that you basically couldn't give birth if you weren't coming home to a rocking chair, and essentially everyone I spoke to afterward seemed to echo this sentiment. Mom wanted me to get out there and figure out the perfect rocker for me, order it up, and send her the bill.

Right-o! sez I, and headed out into the furniture store wilds of Calgary's various and numerous concrete consumer jungles. It quickly became clear that in fecund circles these days the traditional rocker had gone the way of Dr. Spock, and really, any sane pregnant lady was buying a glider (like, c'mon). For the uninitiated, the difference is simply this: rocker = back and forth, tilting up and down; and glider = back and forth, no tilting, just gliding front and back. Alrighty, good enough, a glider it would be for me.

Turner checks out the goods in our 'round-town tour of Calgary's furniture shops, January 2005

However, it took weeks and weeks and weeks to remember to order the damn thing off the internet - you know, me being so busy with the sitting around all big-tummied, and the hours of daytime television watching, and the going to prenatal fitness classes. Sort of occupied, over here. But then about three weeks ago I suddenly realized that if I didn't get off my ass, I was going to end up coming home from the hospital to a NO GLIDER reality here at Chez Bristowe Turner. And like I say, such a thing was simply not on. As a new mother you have to have a rocker (!) - I mean, glider. So in a mild panic, I got the job done.

And today, hurray! The big yellow truck pulled up in front of the house and the little man inside delivered a gigantic box to our front door.

Assembling the prized glider, with our patron, looking on.

Not the most flattering photo of all time (we'll blame the angle), but it's a hell of a chair!

Categories: Pregnancy

Comments [12]

Comments From The Gallery

Of the pre-congratulatory emails we've received in the last little while, here're a few of my favourite bits...

On Turner's role:

"Best of luck! Turner be strong and just so you know, yes I will laugh my ass off at you if I hear you passed out in the delivery room, and yes we will all be silently judging you." - A., Calgary-based actor and farm equipment parts specialist

On recommended names:

"My name recommendation for this girl is 'Liberty'" - B., TO-based Magic 8 Ball afficionado and government big shot

"If the child is born tomorrow then you'll have to think of some Irish names. Like Patrick. or Clancy. or Siobhan. or Potatonia." - S., Montreal-based humourist and fan of concrete

"I do have a few girl names I like, but I'm still hoping for another kid, so I'll keep them to myself until we've officially closed shop. Sorry, find your own!" - N., NW Australia-based francophone and master of the blast radius

"If it's a girl you should name this kid Cinderella. And if it's a boy, you can call it Cinderfella!" - Val, while listening to me read out the emails

On Val:

"Absolutely fabulous that Valerie is there and things are well in hand. I can see her cleaning now. I remember her explaining how, when she moved into her house in Nakusp, she had to re-clean all the gunk out of places like the fridge handle. It was at that point that I realized she was a woman to be admired. I can't clean like that." - A., Vic-based writer and high school friend

Val, caught in a rare moment of relaxation

On pain relief:

"I went for the epidural and I highly recommend it. Amnesia kicks in pretty quick once the baby is out, so you shouldn't be traumatized too much. I just set my mind to the fact that things would suck pretty bad for a day or so and then it would be over." - A., Texas-based debutante and longtime pal

"I said that I wouldn't give you advice, but my wife is adamant re: pain; don't be a hero, just take the drugs, you don't love them more because it hurt more!" - N., former Quebec nationalist

On bringing on labour:

"As far as bringing it on early, my family has a few tales. Apparently red wine is good, that one supported by my grandmother's experience, the flagship for responsibility, whose firstborn arrived a month early after a night of drinking the stuff. Apparently sex is good too, under the premise that what got it there then gets it out. Other than my granny's experiment for booze, there's little supporting evidence for any of this, but it's amusing to pass around." - N., old university friend

"OK here is the formula for labor. Plan a trip to the petting zoo, tell husband you will be right down after you pick up some things off the floor. Bend over, water breaks, put on an adult diaper and change pants. Come downstairs with suspicious bulge in pants, and husband says what happened? Then: No, we are not going to the petting zoo, no you are not having a shower, no no no, and on and on." - M., California-based great auntie and all-around fount of knowledge

At 9:20pm: "On inducing pregnancy, and I pray to God I'm not the only one who recommends this, but here it is: have sex."
At 10:05pm: "Did I write 'induce pregnancy'? I meant 'labour'. I really must lie down." - D., Halifax-based poet and kite-flier

Categories: Pregnancy

Comments [0]

Due Date!

Well folks, here we are, we made it to March 15th, the official due date for our child. Things here at Chez Turner-Bristowe are in waiting mode, as could be expected. I guess you could say that we're "expectant" in more ways than one. Har har. Eeehhhhhh....

My mom (Val) arrived by bus yesterday morning safe and sound, sewing machine in tow. Her arrival heralded the last thing I felt needed to be in place before I could comfortably go into labour (as though my preferences have anything to do with "when"), so it is a great relief to have her here. Though there's not much left to do in terms of actual preparation directly related to the baby, she's already made herself busy doing Mom-ish things like bleaching the bathtub and cleaning under the refrigerator. I didn't want her to come and clean the whole time, but people, there are some nice sideeffects to having your mom around, and only a fool would try to tie my mom to a chair when she's got a head of steam up for a good cleaning rampage. I anticipate that she'll have all the porcelain worn off the bottom of the sink by next week, and that we'll have together renovated the back hallway and planted the whole garden by the end of the month if this baby decides that it's going to stay put for another two weeks.

Physically I'm feeling okay most of the time, though I get very cranky in the evenings, when it's clear that this pregnancy is going to go on forever. In those moments I'm certain I'll never again get to a standing position without a big stream of grunts, I'll never again get farther than 10m from a bottle of Tums, and that I'll never again see my vagina without the aid of a mirror. If it weren't for the many, many, many rubs Turner gives me I really would not be any kind of pleasant company, day or night; and for those many many many rubs, I salute the man I call my husband. (You should see -- he has the best forearm muscle tone I've ever seen on someone not training for a bodybuilding competition.) Overall, I'm huge and my tummy looks almost fake or photoshopped, and doesn't even look like it belongs to me when I catch my own reflection. I'm really at the waddling stage, lurching back and forth as I walk, particularly when I get tired.

Also, I have this weird pimply rash on my upper arms. I've been fortunate that I haven't developed many stretch marks, but the ones I do have at my hips are a weird silver-pink and certainly indicate a great deal of growth, to put it delicately. The big toe on my right foot is hurting for no reason in particular, I think just to get some attention. And my nipples - don't even get me started on them. They're huge. Scary and huge. Suffice it to say, glamourous this stage of pregnancy ain't.

My memory is totally shot (a phenomenon apparently referred to as "placenta brain") so I tell Turner things over and over without realizing it, and like I've mentioned before, I actually forget where I am some of the time. But while I'm more or less space-heady and hippo-bodied, my spirits are generally good. That said, I am certainly at the stage of "Okay, let's get this over with, already."

Now, consider how truly amazing it is that nature gets you to the point where you want to go into labour (an event well-documented as painful, awful, excruciating, etcetera), and in fact actually eagerly anticipate the first real contractions. I'm not unlike many other nine-months-pregnant women in that I am attempting to bring it on using any and all the old wives' tales at my disposal. Among them:

• raspberry leaf tea (strengthens the uterus)
• walking (lots and lots of walking)
• reflexology/acupressure (on the insides of the heel, at the baby toe, at the base of your thumb/forefinger, above your ankle)
• castor oil (diahrreah city)
• jumping up and down (generally not recommended)
• and, as a number of people have suggested, sex.

If you have any other suggestions, please forward them along, post-haste. The sooner we get this show on the road, the better!

For your information, the "plan" for the labour goes thusly: once regular contractions are established, we'll decamp out to Dad's in Douglasdale for a while, since he has two gigantic hot water tanks (compared to our single puny 3L unit) and I plan to be in the shower basically non-stop until it's time to go to the hospital. Once the whole 3-5 min apart point is reached and I can't walk or talk through the contractions, we'll probably send out a quick email to folks who want notice (let us know), and then zoom! we go in the car to the Rockyview Hospital. Of course, in the official plan of the delivery, everything goes painlessly and smoothly and a few short and pleasant hours later we'll be celebrating the birth of our son or daughter. One overnight in the hospital, and then we'll be back home. Oh, the best-laid plans.... Make no mistake, I'm sure it'll hurt like approximately ten motherfuckers (a phrase courtesy of Carla) and I'll be tearing out my own hair and screaming at Turner all those cliched "you did this to me!" lines... but you always have to hope for the best-case scenario, right? Pain-free and blissful, that's what we're aiming for in the official plan.

I'm often asked if I'm going to have an epidural/accept alternate pain meds. I don't know. I guess I'm hoping to be able to make it through with the deep breathing techniques and some low-back massage by Turner and my mom, but that I'm open to the possibility that I may well need some kind of kickass pain relief in the form of medication. We'll see how it goes.

If you wish to call us before it gets all revved up around here (could be anytime, now), go for it. If we don't answer, DON'T PANIC. There's lots of errands being run, swimming at Lindsay Park being done, and walks around the neighbourhood being taken. My grandmother out in Nakusp keeps telling us that she doesn't want to know when I go into labour because she'll just worry, but she calls twice a day to see if anything's happening. If we're not home, she inevitably leaves a worried high-pitched message on the answering machine. I just know I'll be in rip-snortin' labour and she'll call and the whole Catch-22 will come down: should we answer? I'll leave it up to you to think what you like if you get our machine.

If you're interested in predicting the sex/date/weight of this child, you're welcome to submit your guess over email or here, in the comments. We'll post the winner on the website and maybe even name the kid after you, if you have a cool name. Also, if anyone has any non-personal girl name suggestions, we're at an impasse here and not making much headway, so the door is WIDE open for your comments.

Bring it on, we say!

Categories: Pregnancy

Comments [13]

Setting Up The Crib

Initially, I felt a bit weird about the idea of setting up the crib before the baby is born. I'm not superstitious, but it seemed like maybe we should wait and see how everything goes with the delivery and so on before we actually finished off the baby's room. We're still going to wait until April or so to have the baby shower, but in the end it seemed like putting the crib together was the next logical step in our pre-baby house prep.

So without further ado, we bring you the photo essay of the Inaugural Setting-Up Of The John And Margo Turner Memorial Crib (not to imply that John and Margo have passed on; rather, that John and Margo gave us the crib). Thank you, John and Margo!

Lotsa help - I can hold things steady... and that's about it, at this stage

It's coming... together...

Last but not least, the zoo sheets, purchased on Monday at Winner's at Deerfoot Mall (see Ch.2 of Turner's THN-GVB Day, below)

The final product: a cage for our child to sleep in! (See how the zoo linens fit nicely into the whole baby furniture motif?)

The white blanket on the head of the crib is my original baba from when I was a child, the beloved blanket which engendered in me my love of, and fascination with, texture -- particularly that of satin (the baba's edges are lined with it). Mom stored the baba away all these years and presented it back to me last summer, all washed and pressed and ready to go for our baby. Awwww.

Categories: Married Life | Pregnancy

Comments [11]

Whereupon Ash and Turner Engage In Some Serious Thinking On The Subject Of Stuffed Animals

INT: Sears, Chinook Centre. Ashley and Turner are shopping for this weekend's baby shower for an old university acquaintance.

Ash: [Walking by a display of stuffed animals, reaching out, touching them] They really do make stuffed animals softer, nowadays, eh? Different than when we were kids, eh?
Turner: Yeah.
Ash: Sort of shinier, too. The fur is shinier. Sort of slippery.
Turner: Yeah.
Ash: [Fingering the soft fur on a little stuffed duck by the cash register] Like, you can see how these things would feel so tempting to someone looking to give us a gift for the baby. No wonder we have so many stuffed animals, suddenly.
Turner: Yeah. [Looking longingly over at the down escalator and freedom]
Ash: You had a big stuffed animal collection, right?
Turner: [Quickly] Yeah. I slept with about twenty of them when I was a kid. [Looking around for a sales clerk so they can pay for the items and get the hell out of there]
Ash: [Entranced by the texture, staring] I remember stuffed animals being less soft than these. These are so soft. They're like the ones Margaret sent us, the dolphin? And the killer whale? They are so soft. I go in the baby's room and touch them.
Turner: [Now really ready to go] Yeah-yeah-yeah. The miracle of modern life. They've made great strides forward in stuffed animal production. ... Can we get out of here, now?

Categories: Married Life | Pregnancy

Comments [4]

The Fit Ball: Chapter Three of Turner's THN-GVB Day

The newest thing in labour preparation is using one of those fitness balls in the delivery room. Turns out it helps you squat, lean, and generally bounce your way to a more comfortable labour, and so even the hospitals have a bunch on hand... though not quite enough for everyone - of course! People are encouraged to bring their own, just in case.

Now, you can buy a fit ball from the local expensive fitness equipment place for about $45. But our labour prep instructor recommended that we just go down to WalMart and pick up one of their $9 fit balls, so we did as we were told. The $45 ones come already blown-up. The $9 ones don't. And on Monday we learned that the $36 difference might have been worth it, chronicled here in Chapter Three of Turner's Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day.

Turner sometimes gets it into his head that he's going to accomplish a certain set of errands on a certain day, and as someone who works from home and wants to plan his outings carefully, he can be pretty stubborn and disappointed if his efforts are, in any way, thwarted. Despite the rest of the THN-GVB Day's bullshit, Turner was still determined to get the fit ball blown up before heading home. Thus we bring you the photo essay of blowing up the fit ball.

(It should be said however, before we start, that this day had started out glorious. +18C and sunny, one hell of a Calgary fake-spring chinook-induced March day. Just those feathery nimbus clouds wisping across the horizon. Beautiful. I'd sent out a morning email to folks in Ontario that did a bit of bragging about the weather: oh, hubris. When you live in Calgary, you know that it doesn't matter how the weather starts out on any given day, because as soon as you go ahead and trust that things are good, it can and will turn around and bite you in the ass. But we all eventually go ahead and believe, again, anyway. ...Gotcha!)

To refresh your memory, as the photos start, we are fresh off the day from hell that included a number of nice parts, but overall ultimately sucked (mainly and especially for Turner). We've just left Alberta Registries, where our clerk was telling us the story of her son being stabbed to death, so we really figure there's nowhere to go but up, from there. This is the last errand of the day...

Try #1, Co-op Gas Station, 17th Ave. SE. Notice the sunshiny wonderfulness in the background; little did we know what was in store. As he was putting the hose back on the machine, some East Calgary white trash asshole came past with his snarling off-leash rottweiler and scared the teeth off Turner. Not a good omen.

Suddenly, down from the north (!) - overtaken by the weird black reverse-chinook cloud formation of doom.

Try #2, Centex Gas Station in Inglewood. Notice the all-hell-breaking-loose as evidenced by the slush on the back window and pronounced lack of aforementioned sunshiny wonderfulness. This photo was taken no more than ten minutes after Try #1 at the Co-op, above.

We were wedged up against the building at a weird angle because some idiot Calgary Board of Education van driver had parked in the air hose laneway despite the NO PARKING signs. Still unsuccessful in blowing up the fit ball; this is around the time Turner had the first wee temper tantrum.

Try #3, the infamous Blackfoot Truck Stop, Inglewood. Here we see Turner just about at the total end of his rope. There was some swearing and stomping around when this hose didn't work, I tell you. As we drove away, I couldn't help but break down in snorting giggles, which earned me a "You shut the hell up" from T, totally deserved.

When we arrived, a car was just rolling into place in front of the air hose. We saw the car's occupants, an older man and a very young woman, get comfortable and light up cigarettes. We waited for them to get out and use the air hose, but after a few minutes it was clear they were loitering in place. The hail was coming down and hammering on the roofs of the cars - I don't think they noticed us. So we gave them a toot-toot "shit or get off the pot" honk - which elicited something of a hostile and jittery glare-over-the-shoulder "FUCK OFF" from them. So we waited - maybe they were going to use the air hose after all. After another few minutes I gathered my skirts and started out of the car - I'm 9 months pregnant and figured we might as well use it to our advantage. I lumbered over the driver's side window looking as knocked up and uncomfortable as possible as the hail and slush swirled the hair around my head. In the end I think I ended up interrupting a solicitation transaction, to be honest. The guy rolled down his window, seriously pissed. I gave him the ol' "Um, we just want to use the air hose?", pointing at the pump his car was so effectively blocking from use. Instant and total apologetic acquiescence. He was very sorry. Mission accomplished, I headed back to the car.

When the Blackfoot Truck Stop couldn't help us, we finally decided we'd try out Fitter First, the expensive exercise equipment store in the industrial area near our house. It's the home of the $45 already-blown-up fit balls. I figured I'd go in there, look as pathetic as possible, beg them to inflate the ball for us, and even offer to pay (up to) $36 for the service. We rolled up to the place at 5:02pm, just as the last employee was pulling out of the parking lot, leaving us to gaze numbly at the dark store interior and the red "Closed" sign on the window.

Turner was... well, Turner was pretty sure the world was against him, and by that point I really couldn't argue much. The Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day had peaked, and I was concerned that Turner might pop an eyeball or something. We drove home at quite a clip. I held on to the car door for support on the turns, is what I'm saying.

When we got home, we tried the only option left: the old hand-operated balloon pump, used for making balloon animals back in my clowning days.

The camera couldn't capture the speed and force of Mighty Mr. Turner once the hand pump was loosed upon the fit ball!

Bittersweet success: having finally slayed the fit ball dragon, I'm sad to report that Turner wasn't exactly at his most mature.

In use: Squished under the pregnant lady. We're all set... bring on the labour contractions!

And thus, Turner's THN-GVB Day drew to a close. Blood pressure back to normal and all errands accomplished, I can report that Turner slept well that night.

Categories: Married Life | Pregnancy

Comments [11]

The Stuff In Between: Chapter Two of Turner's THN-GVB Day

Turner wouldn't let me take any pictures of this stuff, but try to imagine the following events in this, Chapter Two of Turner's Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day...

Turner, post-infant-car-seat-installation, was beyond hungry. We decided (bad idea, in retrospect) to try out this VN place I'd seen on the Glenmore off-ramp from Blackfoot, over in the industrial park there. Usually huge fans of Vietnamese, our soups were different from what we'd expected. Also, not good. Turner got terrible indigestion. And amazingly, me with no Tums on hand for possibly the first and only time during the whole pregnancy. Back to the car we go, Turner more grumpy even than before.

Zoom - down Southland Drive we went, to the police station to get the infant seat checked (an attempt to avoid the aforementioned $300 fine). Police station is "Under Renovation", hence closed. Turner tells me it was a stupid idea to come to the police station, anyway. We settle for going to the nearby London Drugs to get a plastic diaper wipes dispenser (we've got 6000 refills at home, which I bought in Nakusp at a bargain - until we realized we had no dispenser. The dispenser cost almost as much as the 6000 refills). Turner's bank card doesn't work at the till. The bank card never works on the first five tries, but today it is a personal slight. It's not a good idea to talk to Turner on the way out to the car.

Then, it was on to the baby consignment store, where Turner got to have a brief moment of happiness when he found a baby hat with duckies on it. The duckies seemed to please him very much. Even though we already had five baby hats at home, we got the ducky hat. He also walked me through one of his all-time favourite books at lightning speed, "The Tale of Samuel Whiskers" by Beatrix Potter. (Turner's version has an adult language advisory.) We left the consignment store smiling.

Hat with duckies which brought Turner so much joy. (As modelled on the free stuffed bear given to us by the staff of Kacz' Kids because the manager yelled at us when we came in to exchange a stroller in January. The guy has some temper issues, we get a stuffed bear. Meh.)

Off we went to the Deerfoot Outlet Mall to get the baby crib sheet set Turner had seen at Winner's. En route, we veered into Radio Shack for a second attempt to purchase a new travel alarm clock. Turner's first attempt, a few days prior, had ended with T stomping out of the Radio Shack Chinook store because the sales clerk was a condascending dickwad. On this day I headed directly for the massage implements and devoted my time in the store to watching a wobbly-viewed version of the second Harry Potter movie on all the tv screens (no sound) while getting my back rubbed and feet vibrated by various plug-in accoutrements. Turner meanwhile took on the service industry once again: it took 15 minutes just to buy the clock, but we left the store with most of Turner's sanity intact and only a few after-the-fact complaints about the clerk's attitude. (My back and feet felt great, for the record.)

Across the parking lot we tromped on foot to WalMart to cross-check a price before finishing up the Winner's purchase. I don't remember what we bought, but I do remember that we were in there a long time, and that the bathrooms near the front of the store were closed so I had to walk all the way to the back. It took so long that on my way returning to Turner near the front, I realized I didn't know what city we were in. Once I'd decided it was probably Calgary, I realized I had no idea which Calgary WalMart we were in. That's when I decided it probably didn't matter, because Turner would  probably know. This is what happens to your brain, people. Pregnancy eats your brain. Make sure your husband is okay with repeatedly answering deeply stupid questions before you toss out the condoms: you heard it here.

As we headed back across the endless expanse of parking lot toward Deerfoot Mall proper, we somehow got ourselves into one of those "the world actually is going to go completely to hell within our lifetimes, isn't it" discussions. When you're less than two weeks from the due date of your first child, this topic takes on a whole new meaning: you realize like at no other time in your life that you're about to be a serious and undeniable part of "the problem" of overpopulation and overconsumption of world resources by plopping another person on the earth, and in short order at that. And that although lots of other people probably shouldn't be doing this (having kids and wrecking the earth), we, for sure, should be able to. Like, we're smart and good looking... if anyone should be allowed, it should be us, right? Etcetera. Also part of this discussion: evilness of China's insatiable and growing production engine but the irresistable argument in favour of buying things at the cheapest possible price (goodbye Mom & Pop, hello Sprawlmart); the pending bankruptcy of the USA at the hands of its military spending and how Canada is wise to stay the hell away from this moronic missile defence treaty; and finally full circle, to the idea that although we may well be around to witness the world destroy itself, we still want to have kids.

Hence we arrived at the mall doors rather depressed.

In the end we got the sheet set at Winners, and the woman at the till predicted that we'd have a girl (if you'd like to weigh in on this matter, by all means go ahead - there's no consensus whatsoever and fanatics on both sides of the call. Turner thinks it's a boy, and I have no fricken clue. I've dreamt it going both ways and at this point I still have no idea). We walked out with a Moses basket, too. Then we went to get fish n' chips for Turner, because he was still feeling put upon and there was a great fish n' chips place in the food court. (FYI, I had a veggie burrito.)

At this point we were just about done. All that was left on the list was to drop off some movies, get the car registration sticker for 2006, and blow up the fit ball. Not so hard, right? Looks like this day turned around a bit, and in the end wasn't the awful suckfest it started out to be, right?

Well, we dropped off the movies. And when we went to Alberta Registries. The lady behind the counter was very nice and asked all about the pregnancy, and then told us that she'd had two kids, but now only had one, because her son was stabbed to death at age 16. Uhhh... gee, uhhh... gee, that's really terrible. Uhhh, we are so sorry. Uhhh, we'll go be pregnant... elsewhere. Thanks. Sorry about your son. Bye.

So. Yikes, eh? But there's only the fit ball left - the day couldn't get any worse, right? Right?! 

Well, I can only say that that's the end of Chapter Two.

Categories: Married Life | Pregnancy

Comments [11]

Installing The Car Seat: Chapter One of Turner's THN-GVB Day

Frought with peril, the first-time dealings with an infant car seat strike terror into the best of us. The buckles, the belts, the colour-coded "instructions" written by and for the woefully illiterate - it's all a bit screwy. Slap the potential $300+ police fine for incorrect installation of same on top of the natural insecurity that comes with such unfamiliar territory, and we've got ourselves a place to start.

Thab reminded me recently of their struggles to get Ji's car seat installed in the hospital parking lot on a very cold, very blowy, very snowy late November day in 2001. And on Sunday Dana and Noel came over to report that Dana's mom (a lovely woman who calls Hamilton, ON, home and who I've met exactly once, at Dana and Noel's wedding in 2000) had called to tell Dana to come over and install the car seat for us, because we might forget.

...So in a valiant effort to prove to ourselves and the world at large that not only are we adults attempting to be ready for the arrival of our first child, but that we also recognize a golden weather opportunity when we see one (Calgary is on week 3 of the Longest Chinook On Record - it's going to be +15C again today), we went ahead with installing the car seat on Monday morning.

Please note, this was Chapter One in Turner's Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day. The car seat started it off - not because it was especially difficult to install, but because Turner was already hungry when he started the job. 45 minutes later we had an installed car seat but an EXTREMELY grumpy Mr. T as we roared off towards the Vietnamese place for our late lunch. We'll get more into The Day, but here's the photo essay of the new car seat, freshly locked down inside the Honda:

Which way is up?

Of course, when