And here is Glenn Beck's take on the whole program:
You think about the path of the money here, okay? Just follow the money. Have you ever heard that, follow the money? Follow the path of the money here. They take $4500 of your tax dollars. Then they give it to some other citizen who takes their car that is running fine and then they give that $4500 back to the car company that is probably already owned by the government anyway and then the politicians get to stand up and say, hey, guess what, we saved the auto industry, sales are up 9 billion percent. They are taking money from the taxpayer, giving it to the government, then moving it to other people to give to the government again. It's the circle of government. It's weird how these things always end at the government, isn't it? They always it's just so weird. Imagine that there was a struggling McDonald's franchise. You go out and buy it. Then you announce a new McDonald's program at your franchise, all Big Macs are just a quarter. Then you go out and borrow the money to cover the difference between the quarter and the regular price and you put that in the cash register after every sale. Then you gather the employees and tell them your program was so successful, sales are up 200%. Oh, yeah, and by the way, we're out of business. That's what they're doing!
Friday, July 31, 2009
Cash for Clunkers?
O.K. , O.K., I haven't mentioned much in the political scene lately--but, I just can't stand not commenting on this one.
Today, the President lauded Congress on it's last minute deal to extend the "Cash for Clunkers" program. From what I understand, the program runs like this: you turn in your ag-ed car and the government promises you $3500-$4500 on your new car purchase. Everyone benefits, right: you get a new car, the car salesman gets a commission on a car that otherwise would have gone unsold--thus contributing to an ailing economy?
My problem is this: didn't the government just buy up huge portions of the car industry? So now, they have become the owners AND consumers of and in the auto industry. . . .of course it benefits the government to have an incentive program in an industry that they have such a big stake in. . . .but isn't that a HUGE conflict of interest? How can we be sure that the auto industry was most worthy of billions of dollars of taxpayer dollars versus another industry? Of course lawmakers will pat themselves on the back for how wonderful this peice of legislation is, but I can't help wonder how much this program was given precedence over something else because now the auto industry is owned by the governement.
Just wondering if this is the best way for our government to do business? And since when was it even government's job to be in the private economy?
Today, the President lauded Congress on it's last minute deal to extend the "Cash for Clunkers" program. From what I understand, the program runs like this: you turn in your ag-ed car and the government promises you $3500-$4500 on your new car purchase. Everyone benefits, right: you get a new car, the car salesman gets a commission on a car that otherwise would have gone unsold--thus contributing to an ailing economy?
My problem is this: didn't the government just buy up huge portions of the car industry? So now, they have become the owners AND consumers of and in the auto industry. . . .of course it benefits the government to have an incentive program in an industry that they have such a big stake in. . . .but isn't that a HUGE conflict of interest? How can we be sure that the auto industry was most worthy of billions of dollars of taxpayer dollars versus another industry? Of course lawmakers will pat themselves on the back for how wonderful this peice of legislation is, but I can't help wonder how much this program was given precedence over something else because now the auto industry is owned by the governement.
Just wondering if this is the best way for our government to do business? And since when was it even government's job to be in the private economy?
Monday, July 27, 2009
A Special Moment. . . .
Deedles was on call on Saturday night. I was teaching my first lesson at church since the baby on Sunday, and was hoping he'd be able to slip home a little sooner than noon on Sunday, but at 8:00 A.M. I got a call from the O.R.--he was scrubbed into a liver transplant and would not be home soon--DARN!! When I hung up the phone I had a moment (one of many) where I really resented his job. I survived just fine even though my lesson didn't have any fancy object lessons, musical numbers, or handouts.
It wasn't until bedtime that D and I were discussing our day that he told me about the liver transplant. . . .This man had a liver transplant about a week earlier. His vitals had gotten steadily worse during D's shift Saturday. It was clear that his 7-day-old liver was failing, so that afternoon he and the attending removed the liver and put the man on the waiting list for another one. Later that night, word came that there was a second liver on its way. As D talked to the family of this man, he told them that their dad/husband/brother was very sick. He informed the family there was a likelihood that he would not make it through this second surgery in 24 hours-- the first transplanted liver had been necrotic and really had done a number on his system. As my husband began to excuse himself, the man's brother grabbed his hand and stopped him. He looked him in the eyes and said, "Doc, you are going to save my brother tonight."
D was very humbled to have so much faith put in him. He cried when he told me this. He said he had said a very earnest prayer after he excused himself from the waiting room, before they began the transplant. The man did well in surgery, and is doing well today.
It is moments like these that I am reminded when I am bitterly frustrated about my husband's lack of schedule and reliability--it isn't because he's on the golf course or pursuing some other activity. He is busy helping someone that can't help themself. What a noble work--and I have to think that I share a little bit in his blessings because I am willing to let him be gone--even when there is a lesson to be prepared.
It wasn't until bedtime that D and I were discussing our day that he told me about the liver transplant. . . .This man had a liver transplant about a week earlier. His vitals had gotten steadily worse during D's shift Saturday. It was clear that his 7-day-old liver was failing, so that afternoon he and the attending removed the liver and put the man on the waiting list for another one. Later that night, word came that there was a second liver on its way. As D talked to the family of this man, he told them that their dad/husband/brother was very sick. He informed the family there was a likelihood that he would not make it through this second surgery in 24 hours-- the first transplanted liver had been necrotic and really had done a number on his system. As my husband began to excuse himself, the man's brother grabbed his hand and stopped him. He looked him in the eyes and said, "Doc, you are going to save my brother tonight."
D was very humbled to have so much faith put in him. He cried when he told me this. He said he had said a very earnest prayer after he excused himself from the waiting room, before they began the transplant. The man did well in surgery, and is doing well today.
It is moments like these that I am reminded when I am bitterly frustrated about my husband's lack of schedule and reliability--it isn't because he's on the golf course or pursuing some other activity. He is busy helping someone that can't help themself. What a noble work--and I have to think that I share a little bit in his blessings because I am willing to let him be gone--even when there is a lesson to be prepared.
Raindrops on Roses, and Whiskers on Kittens
These are just a few of my favorite things this summer:
- The nasty, run-down soda machine that miraculously still works (and is still stocked) just across the street
- Falling asleep with Reed on my stomach for a nap
- The sound of laughter outside as my kids are playing
- Snuggling with Roger in the morning as we watch Little Einsteins
- Cafe Rio grilled chicken salad
- Pillow-talk with D at night
- Roger's prayers
- Eliza's dance moves when she thinks no one is watching
- Davis's awesome tricks on the tramp
- Finally feeling like life is calm enough that making dinner doesn't sound like pure torture
- Almost daily trips to the gas station for an ice-cold beverage and treats for the kids
- Watching the kids get soaked in the sprinkler on a hot, hot day
- So You Think You Can Dance on T.V.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Harry Potter
Yep, I admit it: I am a total Harry Potter fan. I've read the books a few times, and I secretly wish I was not a muggle.
We went to the new movie yesterday, and although it was fun to see it on screen--I was a little disapointed, some key things (key to me) were missing. Ahhh, too bad.
We went to the new movie yesterday, and although it was fun to see it on screen--I was a little disapointed, some key things (key to me) were missing. Ahhh, too bad.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Sunscreen Let Down
I, like many other moms out there, was thrilled to discover the spray-on sunscreen. Let's face it: rubbing the sunscreen all over 3 kids bodies gets tedious--they hate it, I hate it. So when I saw the spray-sunscreen at Costco, I quickly picked up the 2-pack.
It is with great sadness that I report one bottle of the spray-on had evidently lost its juice before we even opened the package. The other bottle, which bragged even coverage, lived up to its name for about one application. Then, it just sort of spurted and gurgled its contents--I ended up having to rub on sunscreen anyway. And, to add insult to injury, the bottle really only lasted for about 6 or 8 applications. So with 3 kids, the math says that I was out of sunscreen after about 3 days! STINKY.
On the plus side, I called Coppertone to report the faulty bottle and they quickly sent me a 10.99 replacement coupon. But, instead of picking up another spray bottle, I went right back to the rub-on. . . so sad, so let down.
Has anyone else had the same sort of problems, or was I just unlucky?
It is with great sadness that I report one bottle of the spray-on had evidently lost its juice before we even opened the package. The other bottle, which bragged even coverage, lived up to its name for about one application. Then, it just sort of spurted and gurgled its contents--I ended up having to rub on sunscreen anyway. And, to add insult to injury, the bottle really only lasted for about 6 or 8 applications. So with 3 kids, the math says that I was out of sunscreen after about 3 days! STINKY.
On the plus side, I called Coppertone to report the faulty bottle and they quickly sent me a 10.99 replacement coupon. But, instead of picking up another spray bottle, I went right back to the rub-on. . . so sad, so let down.
Has anyone else had the same sort of problems, or was I just unlucky?
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Question
Today I have to ask myself: What are corn nuts? They don't seem like corn, and I don't think they are nuts.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Just Keepin' it Real
Well, thanks to everyone for being so nice!! But, I have a confession: I am totally on anxiety meds!! So for those of you who have been wondering how I do it--there's your answer. I am getting help from a little pill-hah!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
2-week Anniversary
Well, I have now survived 2 weeks with four children!! I feel really good and even took all the kids swimming at a friend's pool today (thanks Bonnie). Swim lessons are in full swing for the twins, Roger is getting used to the idea of not being the baby anymore, and we even went to church yesterday (alone- D was on call).
And now I must admit I am horribly behind on laundry- but I guess that is not too bad considering. . . . . But I had a strange moment as I was loading my colors into the laundry tonight. I found the pink shirt I was wearing 2 weeks ago-- the same shirt I gave birth in, and the same shirt I held a just-born Reed on. I don't know how it ended up in the bottom of my bin. I would have thought I'd send it to the wash sooner.
The strange thing was that the shirt was slightly stained with newborn Reed blood (hope that doesn't gross anyone out)--it didn't show very much because the shirt was a dark pink, just a remnant remained of the predicament the shirt had been through--faded. As I was soaking the shirt in hydrogen peroxide (for anyone that doesn't know, this gets rid of blood stains like a charm) I couldn't help but relive those crazy few minutes again. People keep asking if I was terrified- and I really wasn't. I didn't have time to process the levity of the situation. I'm just glad things turned out the way they did.
And now I must admit I am horribly behind on laundry- but I guess that is not too bad considering. . . . . But I had a strange moment as I was loading my colors into the laundry tonight. I found the pink shirt I was wearing 2 weeks ago-- the same shirt I gave birth in, and the same shirt I held a just-born Reed on. I don't know how it ended up in the bottom of my bin. I would have thought I'd send it to the wash sooner.
The strange thing was that the shirt was slightly stained with newborn Reed blood (hope that doesn't gross anyone out)--it didn't show very much because the shirt was a dark pink, just a remnant remained of the predicament the shirt had been through--faded. As I was soaking the shirt in hydrogen peroxide (for anyone that doesn't know, this gets rid of blood stains like a charm) I couldn't help but relive those crazy few minutes again. People keep asking if I was terrified- and I really wasn't. I didn't have time to process the levity of the situation. I'm just glad things turned out the way they did.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The prayer of an anxious 6 year-old girl
". . . . . please bless me and Davis not to sink and die during swim lessons. . . ."
How a two-year-old sees his baby brother
Shortly after we brought Reed home from the hospital, we had him up on the changing table for a diaper change. I said, "Roger, look Reed is getting his diaper changed."
It took Roger a second to process this thought then his face changed. "Hey, that's mine!" he announced as he stepped forward-- I guess it would rock his world if I told him I was not happy about the fact that he still used the changing table--potty training is looming on the horizon for him.
It took Roger a second to process this thought then his face changed. "Hey, that's mine!" he announced as he stepped forward-- I guess it would rock his world if I told him I was not happy about the fact that he still used the changing table--potty training is looming on the horizon for him.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
How NOT to Deliver your Baby at Home, 101
Well, folks. Here it is: my version of the story. Sorry it is so long, but to those of you who know me, you know I can be very long-winded. Enjoy!
I woke up with a startle at about 6:45 A.M. from an uncomfortable contraction on the morning of June 22—the due date for my fourth baby. My first thought was, “Yes! Maybe I’ll have this baby today.” Shortly thereafter my day began with various household chores—feeding the kids, getting dressed, tidying up the kitchen. During the course of the next few hours, I experienced more contractions, but they were very irregular. A few were 10 minutes apart and others were 45 minutes apart. I called my husband, D, who is a surgical resident, and gave him the update so he would be aware of what was going on at home. We both decided that he would continue work until things seemed more urgent.
At 10:30 A.M., I had a non-stress test scheduled at the outpatient clinic of the hospital because it was my due date. I packed my bags, secretly hoping that my contractions would become more regular at the hospital, and they would admit me for the labor and delivery. I dropped my kids off at my sister-in-law’s, Cynthia, home and warned her that I had experienced some mildly painful contractions that morning and perhaps might be admitted.
When I arrived for my non-stress test, my contractions seemed to halt. After sitting in the comfortable chair for 30 minutes, I only experienced one contraction. After the technician analyzed my results, she said she saw the contraction on the monitor and I had also had a few others, but because they showed no consistency in strength or duration, that was a sign that of classic ‘false labor.’
I disappointedly walked to my car, but as I reached the parking structure, I had another somewhat painful contraction. “Well,” I thought to myself, “I’ll kick myself if I get home then my labor really starts. I think I’ll go upstairs to Labor and Delivery and have them check me.”
I arrived at Labor and Delivery and they showed me back to the triage nurses. I explained to them that I had had uncomfortable contractions all morning, and was wondering if this was the beginning of labor. One nurse told me that I would be admitted for a L&D emergency visit, do a non-stress test, then they would have me change into a gown and check my cervix. “Oh, I just had a non-stress test,” I told them. “It seems silly to do another one again.” They told me that was the standard protocol, and one nurse mentioned that it sounded like I really wanted was to be checked (that was exactly right!). She said she thought I was in false labor, and I should come back when my contractions were 5-7 minutes apart. She told me I could run down to the OB clinic and be checked by my regular doctor, but as I passed the floor where the clinic was I felt silly because I had just been told by a technician and 2 nurses that I was in false labor. I didn’t want to make my doctor miss lunch or the other patients have to wait longer because of my paranoia. It was now about 11:45 A.M.
I picked up lunch, picked up the kids, and headed home—somewhat sadly, I might add (I really wanted this to be the day!). I put my 2 year old down for a nap at around 1:00 P.M. From 1:00 P.M. to 2:00 P.M., I read stories with my 6-year-old twins and helped my son make a model airplane. I had one contraction during that hour. Then, at 2:00, I told the kids I needed a nap, so we headed to the bed with the portable DVD player—the kids watched a movie and I laid down to sleep. During the next hour, I had three contractions (just after 2:00, then 2:25, then 2:50) that were 25 minutes apart. The last contraction really woke me up—it hurt! I got out of bed and walked around my back patio for a bit.
At around 3:00 P.M., I called my husband. He said he had two more cases for the day that would be pretty short. I let him know my last contraction was pretty painful, but that they were still spaced so far apart that I didn’t think we needed to be in a hurry. We both decided he should scrub in for one more case and call me in about an hour when it was done.
I then walked into the house and did some tidying up. At about 3:10 or so, I had another really painful contraction, then 10 minutes later I had another one. At this point, with the contractions coming quicker and with definite force, I decided it was time to round up the kids and take them back to my sister-in-law’s home. I told the twins to gather their things, put their shoes on, and go to the car. They obeyed and ran out to the car to wait. I called my husband and left a message with the O.R. circulator that I was taking the kids to his brother’s house. It was now about 3:25-3:30-ish. When my husband got that message, he said he excused himself from the case-after all, he had just spoken to me 20 minutes before and now my story had changed.
Shortly after I left a message with my husband (about 5 minutes or so, around 3:35), I experienced another whopping contraction (I’d say about as intense as right before I asked for an epidural with my last pregnancy). I then paged my husband with the subject line: 9-1-1. This is our code for , ‘call me now, I really need to talk ASAP.’ My husband says that when he got this page, he was gathering things up from his locker, but when he saw 9-1-1 he threw everything back in and ran out to the parking garage.
At this point, I didn’t think I should be driving on the freeway, so I called my good friend, Liz. I told her that I was planning to take the kids to my sister-in-law’s home, but had just experienced some intense contractions and didn’t think it was wise to drive on the freeway. I asked her if I could bring the kids up to her house. She said, “Of course,” and even tried to say she’d come to my house. . . .”No, no,” was my reply, “I’m sure it will be fine to drive up the few streets to your house.” Then, I began another contraction—a big one—and told Liz I needed to hang up because I couldn’t talk. I hung up, muscled through this contraction and dialed Liz right back. “Liz,” I announced, “that was a really big one (contraction. I think maybe you better come down here. Maybe I shouldn’t be driving at all.” Liz says her phone recorded this call just after 3:40 P.M.
During the course of my conversations with Liz, my husband was frantically trying to reach me—remember he had just gotten the 9-1-1 page from me. He tried over and over. The line was busy—I was talking to Liz. Finally, he dialed my cell phone. Luckily, I had left the phone in the car—and my 6-year-old daughter answered it. She was instructed by her Dad to go inside and find mom so he could talk to her.
At this point, things really began happening quickly. Right after I hung up with Liz, I was in the bedroom and another contraction hit. The best way I can describe it is as one of the most painful things I had ever felt—and it took me by surprise. I put my hands on the dresser, and screamed out it pain!! I thought this was just another contraction, but it didn’t seem to be ending. The thought came to me that maybe I needed to use the bathroom, so I hobbled around the corner and sat down, but still-no relief. Just as I sat down, my daughter entered the bathroom with the cell phone. She told me Dad was on the line and wanted to talk to me. “No! I can’t talk,” I blurted out.
“Dad wants to know if he should call 911,” she said.
“I don’t know,” was my reply. I still thought this contraction was going to end!
My daughter then answered a few questions from her Dad (where is mommy? Is there blood on the ground?), and then once again my daughter said, “Dad wants to know if he should call 9-1-1.
“Yes!” I finally screamed. This contraction was not ending, and now I felt the urge to push. My mind told me that having to push during a contraction meant the end was coming but I still held onto the hope that this pain would end soon. But, I couldn’t hold off. I pushed. As I did, my water broke. ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘now this contraction will end.’ (my last labor began with a contraction that broke my water. But that labor had ended with a delivery 8 hours later).
Much to my dismay, the urge to push did not leave me—and neither did the pain. At this point I reached in between my legs and, lo and behold, there was a head-crowning. It was then that I knew I was actually about to deliver my baby at home. I reached down again, and this time I also processed that the baby’s cord was on top of his head- a prolapsed cord! In my mind flashed a cartoon image from a First Responders Course I had taken from the Red Cross. It was a cartoon image of a woman giving birth with a cord coming out first- the image was framed in a circle with a big “X” over the top. I knew at this point that I had to push this baby out fast because every minute longer was a minute he was going without oxygen.
I asked my daughter to grab some towels for me. She did, and obediently went back out to the car to wait. I whipped off my bottoms and got down on the bathroom floor on all fours. I tried to feel the contractions and push with them. I was also racking my brain with breathing techniques ‘Oh, yeah, don’t hold your breath,’ I told myself. After a few pushes I felt that the head was beginning to come out.
While I was on all fours, the phone rang. Although the phone was just on the countertop, I was too overcome to get it. The answering machine picked up,” Hello, Camilla. This is Salt Lake City Fire Department. I just wanted you to know that EMS is on their way. If you could pick up the phone, I would love to talk to you. I’m going to wait here for a minute, then I will call back.” That phone call was very comforting, but I still didn’t know if I would be delivering this baby all by myself or not.
Then, I heard Liz outside. “Liz,” I screamed, “Get in here! I am crowning!” Liz walked in the door and was greeted with a scene she probably wouldn’t have been expecting in her wildest dreams! A pregnant lady on all fours, GIVING BIRTH! Liz quickly dialed 9-1-1 on her cell phone and as she did, the phone rang again. I told her that it was probably 9-1-1 and she should answer it. She did. She listened for a moment, and I heard her tell the woman on the line that she could see a head. “Camilla,” she said, “they are telling me that you need to turn over on your back."“I can’t,” I whined. I just thought it would be too hard with a head in between my legs, not to mention the contractions I was having. The woman on the line told Liz to ask me if I wanted to move to the bed. Liz knew I wasn’t moving anywhere, but she ran to the bedroom to grab a blanket. As she did, I gathered up the courage to turn over like I was told. Liz came around the corner and helped me. Then she moved to my feet where she could help me.
After a push or two on my back, I had pushed out the baby’s head. I heard Liz say, “I see his face. His head is purple,” This scared me. I told Liz that I was going to push out the body and I needed her to pull. I pushed. Nothing happened. “Liz,” I said,”I need you to pull harder.”
Then Liz got her hands up around the baby’s head and shoulder. I pushed and she pulled. She said she sort of wriggled the baby’s head and body out and then he was born! We think his birth happened at around 3:50 P.M. I felt such relief at this point. But again Liz said, “He is purple and not breathing or crying.” I told Liz there was a bulb syringe on the dresser in the baby’s room, and she should give me the baby. I grabbed the baby while she got the syringe. He was pretty purple. I slapped his back and tried to remove any goo from his mouth with my finger. He started gurgling slowly, but no crying yet. Liz returned with the syringe and went to work.
Then EMS arrived and took over for Liz. Very slowly, the baby started making more noise. They cut the cord and asked for some blankets to warm him. I told them where the blankets were. Then my husband came running in, the hallway was crowded with four EMS guys, and no one saw him. He cleared his throat and announced, “I am the Dad and a physician. Can I please get past?” He came into the bathroom and checked me out. He asked about my bleeding, and the man that was helping me said that there wasn’t too much blood. My husband then felt confident that I was going to be okay. He turned to the man holding the baby and helped wrap the baby in blankets. This man informed him that the ambulance had been heated up and they had oxygen in there. My husband said, “Let’s go then.” I am told that after several good slaps and some oxygen that my baby cried, pinked up, and seemed no worse for the wear.
I was shaken and didn’t know what to expect with the placenta. I asked if I needed to push it out. EMS informed me that I could if I felt like it, but didn’t need to worry. They then lifted me up on a chair and moved me to a stretcher. I was then wisked out of the house and to the ambulance. I was greeted by the many neighbors who walked down the street to see what the commotion was all about—totally embarrassing! I delivered the placenta in the ambulance, in my own salad bowl of all things! When I arrived at the hospital, they stitched me up and gave me some much-wished-for narcotics. Baby Reed weighed in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces and was 20 inches long. He passed his APGARS (sp?) with flying colors--thank goodness!
I thank my Heavenly Father for granting me clarity of mind and several perfectly timed things happening during this ordeal; my great friend showing up in the nick of time, my ability to remember where the bulb syringe was placed, my six-year-old daughter answering the phone which was ‘accidentally’ left in the car, the hasty arrival of EMS and my dear husband getting home as quick as possible! All’s well that ends well, right?
I woke up with a startle at about 6:45 A.M. from an uncomfortable contraction on the morning of June 22—the due date for my fourth baby. My first thought was, “Yes! Maybe I’ll have this baby today.” Shortly thereafter my day began with various household chores—feeding the kids, getting dressed, tidying up the kitchen. During the course of the next few hours, I experienced more contractions, but they were very irregular. A few were 10 minutes apart and others were 45 minutes apart. I called my husband, D, who is a surgical resident, and gave him the update so he would be aware of what was going on at home. We both decided that he would continue work until things seemed more urgent.
At 10:30 A.M., I had a non-stress test scheduled at the outpatient clinic of the hospital because it was my due date. I packed my bags, secretly hoping that my contractions would become more regular at the hospital, and they would admit me for the labor and delivery. I dropped my kids off at my sister-in-law’s, Cynthia, home and warned her that I had experienced some mildly painful contractions that morning and perhaps might be admitted.
When I arrived for my non-stress test, my contractions seemed to halt. After sitting in the comfortable chair for 30 minutes, I only experienced one contraction. After the technician analyzed my results, she said she saw the contraction on the monitor and I had also had a few others, but because they showed no consistency in strength or duration, that was a sign that of classic ‘false labor.’
I disappointedly walked to my car, but as I reached the parking structure, I had another somewhat painful contraction. “Well,” I thought to myself, “I’ll kick myself if I get home then my labor really starts. I think I’ll go upstairs to Labor and Delivery and have them check me.”
I arrived at Labor and Delivery and they showed me back to the triage nurses. I explained to them that I had had uncomfortable contractions all morning, and was wondering if this was the beginning of labor. One nurse told me that I would be admitted for a L&D emergency visit, do a non-stress test, then they would have me change into a gown and check my cervix. “Oh, I just had a non-stress test,” I told them. “It seems silly to do another one again.” They told me that was the standard protocol, and one nurse mentioned that it sounded like I really wanted was to be checked (that was exactly right!). She said she thought I was in false labor, and I should come back when my contractions were 5-7 minutes apart. She told me I could run down to the OB clinic and be checked by my regular doctor, but as I passed the floor where the clinic was I felt silly because I had just been told by a technician and 2 nurses that I was in false labor. I didn’t want to make my doctor miss lunch or the other patients have to wait longer because of my paranoia. It was now about 11:45 A.M.
I picked up lunch, picked up the kids, and headed home—somewhat sadly, I might add (I really wanted this to be the day!). I put my 2 year old down for a nap at around 1:00 P.M. From 1:00 P.M. to 2:00 P.M., I read stories with my 6-year-old twins and helped my son make a model airplane. I had one contraction during that hour. Then, at 2:00, I told the kids I needed a nap, so we headed to the bed with the portable DVD player—the kids watched a movie and I laid down to sleep. During the next hour, I had three contractions (just after 2:00, then 2:25, then 2:50) that were 25 minutes apart. The last contraction really woke me up—it hurt! I got out of bed and walked around my back patio for a bit.
At around 3:00 P.M., I called my husband. He said he had two more cases for the day that would be pretty short. I let him know my last contraction was pretty painful, but that they were still spaced so far apart that I didn’t think we needed to be in a hurry. We both decided he should scrub in for one more case and call me in about an hour when it was done.
I then walked into the house and did some tidying up. At about 3:10 or so, I had another really painful contraction, then 10 minutes later I had another one. At this point, with the contractions coming quicker and with definite force, I decided it was time to round up the kids and take them back to my sister-in-law’s home. I told the twins to gather their things, put their shoes on, and go to the car. They obeyed and ran out to the car to wait. I called my husband and left a message with the O.R. circulator that I was taking the kids to his brother’s house. It was now about 3:25-3:30-ish. When my husband got that message, he said he excused himself from the case-after all, he had just spoken to me 20 minutes before and now my story had changed.
Shortly after I left a message with my husband (about 5 minutes or so, around 3:35), I experienced another whopping contraction (I’d say about as intense as right before I asked for an epidural with my last pregnancy). I then paged my husband with the subject line: 9-1-1. This is our code for , ‘call me now, I really need to talk ASAP.’ My husband says that when he got this page, he was gathering things up from his locker, but when he saw 9-1-1 he threw everything back in and ran out to the parking garage.
At this point, I didn’t think I should be driving on the freeway, so I called my good friend, Liz. I told her that I was planning to take the kids to my sister-in-law’s home, but had just experienced some intense contractions and didn’t think it was wise to drive on the freeway. I asked her if I could bring the kids up to her house. She said, “Of course,” and even tried to say she’d come to my house. . . .”No, no,” was my reply, “I’m sure it will be fine to drive up the few streets to your house.” Then, I began another contraction—a big one—and told Liz I needed to hang up because I couldn’t talk. I hung up, muscled through this contraction and dialed Liz right back. “Liz,” I announced, “that was a really big one (contraction. I think maybe you better come down here. Maybe I shouldn’t be driving at all.” Liz says her phone recorded this call just after 3:40 P.M.
During the course of my conversations with Liz, my husband was frantically trying to reach me—remember he had just gotten the 9-1-1 page from me. He tried over and over. The line was busy—I was talking to Liz. Finally, he dialed my cell phone. Luckily, I had left the phone in the car—and my 6-year-old daughter answered it. She was instructed by her Dad to go inside and find mom so he could talk to her.
At this point, things really began happening quickly. Right after I hung up with Liz, I was in the bedroom and another contraction hit. The best way I can describe it is as one of the most painful things I had ever felt—and it took me by surprise. I put my hands on the dresser, and screamed out it pain!! I thought this was just another contraction, but it didn’t seem to be ending. The thought came to me that maybe I needed to use the bathroom, so I hobbled around the corner and sat down, but still-no relief. Just as I sat down, my daughter entered the bathroom with the cell phone. She told me Dad was on the line and wanted to talk to me. “No! I can’t talk,” I blurted out.
“Dad wants to know if he should call 911,” she said.
“I don’t know,” was my reply. I still thought this contraction was going to end!
My daughter then answered a few questions from her Dad (where is mommy? Is there blood on the ground?), and then once again my daughter said, “Dad wants to know if he should call 9-1-1.
“Yes!” I finally screamed. This contraction was not ending, and now I felt the urge to push. My mind told me that having to push during a contraction meant the end was coming but I still held onto the hope that this pain would end soon. But, I couldn’t hold off. I pushed. As I did, my water broke. ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘now this contraction will end.’ (my last labor began with a contraction that broke my water. But that labor had ended with a delivery 8 hours later).
Much to my dismay, the urge to push did not leave me—and neither did the pain. At this point I reached in between my legs and, lo and behold, there was a head-crowning. It was then that I knew I was actually about to deliver my baby at home. I reached down again, and this time I also processed that the baby’s cord was on top of his head- a prolapsed cord! In my mind flashed a cartoon image from a First Responders Course I had taken from the Red Cross. It was a cartoon image of a woman giving birth with a cord coming out first- the image was framed in a circle with a big “X” over the top. I knew at this point that I had to push this baby out fast because every minute longer was a minute he was going without oxygen.
I asked my daughter to grab some towels for me. She did, and obediently went back out to the car to wait. I whipped off my bottoms and got down on the bathroom floor on all fours. I tried to feel the contractions and push with them. I was also racking my brain with breathing techniques ‘Oh, yeah, don’t hold your breath,’ I told myself. After a few pushes I felt that the head was beginning to come out.
While I was on all fours, the phone rang. Although the phone was just on the countertop, I was too overcome to get it. The answering machine picked up,” Hello, Camilla. This is Salt Lake City Fire Department. I just wanted you to know that EMS is on their way. If you could pick up the phone, I would love to talk to you. I’m going to wait here for a minute, then I will call back.” That phone call was very comforting, but I still didn’t know if I would be delivering this baby all by myself or not.
Then, I heard Liz outside. “Liz,” I screamed, “Get in here! I am crowning!” Liz walked in the door and was greeted with a scene she probably wouldn’t have been expecting in her wildest dreams! A pregnant lady on all fours, GIVING BIRTH! Liz quickly dialed 9-1-1 on her cell phone and as she did, the phone rang again. I told her that it was probably 9-1-1 and she should answer it. She did. She listened for a moment, and I heard her tell the woman on the line that she could see a head. “Camilla,” she said, “they are telling me that you need to turn over on your back."“I can’t,” I whined. I just thought it would be too hard with a head in between my legs, not to mention the contractions I was having. The woman on the line told Liz to ask me if I wanted to move to the bed. Liz knew I wasn’t moving anywhere, but she ran to the bedroom to grab a blanket. As she did, I gathered up the courage to turn over like I was told. Liz came around the corner and helped me. Then she moved to my feet where she could help me.
After a push or two on my back, I had pushed out the baby’s head. I heard Liz say, “I see his face. His head is purple,” This scared me. I told Liz that I was going to push out the body and I needed her to pull. I pushed. Nothing happened. “Liz,” I said,”I need you to pull harder.”
Then Liz got her hands up around the baby’s head and shoulder. I pushed and she pulled. She said she sort of wriggled the baby’s head and body out and then he was born! We think his birth happened at around 3:50 P.M. I felt such relief at this point. But again Liz said, “He is purple and not breathing or crying.” I told Liz there was a bulb syringe on the dresser in the baby’s room, and she should give me the baby. I grabbed the baby while she got the syringe. He was pretty purple. I slapped his back and tried to remove any goo from his mouth with my finger. He started gurgling slowly, but no crying yet. Liz returned with the syringe and went to work.
Then EMS arrived and took over for Liz. Very slowly, the baby started making more noise. They cut the cord and asked for some blankets to warm him. I told them where the blankets were. Then my husband came running in, the hallway was crowded with four EMS guys, and no one saw him. He cleared his throat and announced, “I am the Dad and a physician. Can I please get past?” He came into the bathroom and checked me out. He asked about my bleeding, and the man that was helping me said that there wasn’t too much blood. My husband then felt confident that I was going to be okay. He turned to the man holding the baby and helped wrap the baby in blankets. This man informed him that the ambulance had been heated up and they had oxygen in there. My husband said, “Let’s go then.” I am told that after several good slaps and some oxygen that my baby cried, pinked up, and seemed no worse for the wear.
I was shaken and didn’t know what to expect with the placenta. I asked if I needed to push it out. EMS informed me that I could if I felt like it, but didn’t need to worry. They then lifted me up on a chair and moved me to a stretcher. I was then wisked out of the house and to the ambulance. I was greeted by the many neighbors who walked down the street to see what the commotion was all about—totally embarrassing! I delivered the placenta in the ambulance, in my own salad bowl of all things! When I arrived at the hospital, they stitched me up and gave me some much-wished-for narcotics. Baby Reed weighed in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces and was 20 inches long. He passed his APGARS (sp?) with flying colors--thank goodness!
I thank my Heavenly Father for granting me clarity of mind and several perfectly timed things happening during this ordeal; my great friend showing up in the nick of time, my ability to remember where the bulb syringe was placed, my six-year-old daughter answering the phone which was ‘accidentally’ left in the car, the hasty arrival of EMS and my dear husband getting home as quick as possible! All’s well that ends well, right?
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