The heartbeat

During our first baby appointment at 9 weeks, our midwife attempted to hear the heartbeat in my lower abdomen with a Doppler, though unsuccessful. She told us not to worry, assuring me and my husband that by the next appointment in 4 weeks, we will definitely hear it. Because we chose to go with a group of OB providers, I would be scheduled with a different provider each time, even though I already made it clear that I preferred midwifery, as long as I remained at low risk. The midwife said she would note my preference in my chart.

Our 13 week appointment started out as expected: check my weight, leave a urine sample, take my blood pressure. But Russ and I were most looking forward to hearing the heartbeat. The OB, who I had heard good things about, said that we probably wouldn't hear the heartbeat, that it's too early. I sat there surprised and in silent shock. I didn't buy his words. He seemed to be in a rush. I left the appointment feeling disappointed and bitter. I felt like it was a waste of time for all. I forget how different the outlook of each provider can and will be.

That following weekend, I shared my experience with my co-workers. Stephanie, one of the nurses, volunteered to use the Doppler to hear the baby's heartbeat for ourselves. She, Elizabeth, also in the pregnancy club, and myself snuck discreetly into our last empty room. We collectively guessed at placing the Doppler in the general abdominal area that the midwife tried weeks prior. We heard my own strong heartbeat pretty easily.

But within minutes, I listened in awe as the faster heartbeat was detected. The baby's heartbeat. I only wish that Russ could have heard.

Charge nursing, bedside nursing, and meralgia paresthetica

Prior to becoming pregnant, my husband and I had discussed the necessity of childcare as we were and still are both planning on working either part or full-time. Now, with Russ working Monday to Friday, I jumped at the opportunity to leave my Monday to Thursday afternoon shifts as charge nurse and work on weekends from Friday to Sunday on the floor as a staff nurse. Working the afternoon shift, I was unable to have quality time and conversation with my love, as I didn’t come home until midnight, at which time he should already be fast asleep. It has been nice to share dinner daily with Russ. I am looking forward to spending four days a week with the baby and husband versus at work. It may sound crazy to anyone who enjoys their weekends off, but in terms of childcare, the only day we would need someone to care for the little one would be Fridays as of right now. Not to mention, working as a weekend premium nurse earns a few bucks more an hour.

Others may question, why would I want to leave my position as charge nurse? I had become jaded with my position as the job priorities are discharge planning, auditing, and of course maintaining order on the floor. While I have been honored to be in this position, I didn’t become a nurse to be a “desk” nurse. I became a nurse to care for those who are sick. I was enthusiastic when my new manager officially offered the job as a weekend premium nurse to me. Dave mentioned that our weekend charge nurse might be leaving to work on another floor soon. He asked me if I would be interested in still being charge. I told him no pretty quickly and easily because I miss bedside nursing.

But perhaps a week or two later, our day charge nurse, our clinical supervisor, and myself requested a meeting with Dave to discuss challenging issues on our floor. I remember becoming almost tearful as he discussed his plans for 6 North and for resolving these issues. It’s been a long time since I had been so encouraged by management. I believe that he will bring positive change to the floor. As I left that meeting, I began to ponder, maybe I should stay as charge nurse on the weekends? That night, I went to bed prayerfully discerning over how I could best be utilized on the floor. In what way was I being called?

A couple days later, Jodi, the main preceptor for the graduate nurses, came to me and questioned why I suddenly decided to go from charge to bedside nursing with this being my first pregnancy. She called me “frail.” I rebutted that label in a good-natured way. She was concerned about the health of the baby and me. I told her the reasons why I didn’t care to be charge anymore, but maybe I should reconsider? Perhaps this was a nudge from the Holy Spirit? I talked to Dave later that afternoon and told him about this conversation I had with Jodi. I had a minor breakdown in his office. I told him the reasons why I did and didn’t want to be a charge nurse. He has told me before that I am management material, not that I care to be in his role at all. He said that if I wanted the weekend charge position that I could have it. This time around, I told him yes pretty easily and quickly. I feel privileged to still be a part of the leadership team.

Weeks go by and I just finished working my first weekend as a staff nurse for now. Thankfully, I was blessed with a good set of patients and their families. On my first 12 hour day shift last week, my right leg started to bother me, but I knew it was because I had spent the majority of those 12 hours either standing or walking. As charge nurse, you do spend a lot of time at the desk, keeping the floor organized and communicating with physicians. If I would stand or take a walk, it would be a short one! But as I played staff nurse that day, I was feeling the pain!

I went home that night, fearing the worst. The pain was in my right thigh. As a cardiac nurse, I feared a blood clot, even though I knew it normally starts in the lower leg. They surely couldn’t do a CT to rule out a pulmonary embolism with iodine in pregnant women? Could they? Do they give heparin to pregnant women? Should I go to the ER that night? Would they have an ultrasound tech available to scan my leg? I couldn’t remember what the midwife told me to do if I had any problems. Maybe call the OB office the next morning? Maybe call my primary physician? I don't like seeing doctors unless absolutely necessary. Could this be one of those times? I didn’t want to tell Russ because I didn’t want him to worry for now. Behind my husband’s back, I immediately began googling what this could possibly be, other than a clot. When I found enough links of pregnant who complained of leg pain problems, I was able to sleep for a few hours.

When I woke up the next morning, my outer right thigh felt numb. Great. Now it's neurological. Could this be an MS flare-up? My gut told me it wasn’t, but I still questioned what it could be. When I googled the problem that morning, I found more promising links of what the numbness could be. I had officially diagnosed myself with meralgia paresthetica, which can be caused by all that walking and standing I was doing as a pregnant staff nurse the previous day. I read that it could best be relieved by rest and certain exercises.

When I saw my primary physician on the floor, I told her about my latest affliction. She listened thoroughly and patiently. She told me that it is something called meralgia paresthetica, that it was normal during pregnancy, and that it would go away eventually. I was so excited that I assumed the correct diagnosis, you know, being only a nurse. As my physician agreed on the diagnosis, I was fully reassured. Not a clot. Not MS. Just another pregnancy symptom.

Symptoms

I don't feel as though I was properly warned about all this fatigue and exhaustion that comes with pregnancy. It began on week 4 and continues daily. When I voiced to a fellow nurse that I was feeling very tired that week, she immediately guessed that I was pregnant. I told her I wasn't sure, though I hadn't started my period either. I left out the part that I had taken a home pregnancy test that morning, and that it did show a faint line to indicate pregnancy.

By week 5, I was growing increasingly moodier. I noticed myself becoming short with the secretary. I started to feel guilty for being so moody. Another co-workers also noticed that something was different about me, but I wouldn't admit what quite yet. I was urinating frequently and the breasts were starting to feel tender.

At the start of the 6th week, waves of queasiness hit. My voracious appetite decreased greatly, though my unhealthy cravings set in. I was grateful to my ever loving husband, who gave in to my cravings for pizza one night and of General Tso's chicken and french fries another night. I told him that I didn't care to eat any of the healthy food he was always cooking. I was craving all things fried and unhealthy. I've shocked myself by turning my nose away from shiitake mushrooms from the farmer's market, which have been a favorite for me.

By the 7th week, I was still craving french fries, now fried chicken, and buttered toast. I was desiring blander foods to manage my queasy/nauseated self. Every time I felt as if I was going to vomit, I mentally coached myself with the mantra, "mind over matter, mind over matter." I preferred hovering over the bathroom sink than the toilet. We ate at our favorite Mexican restaurant. I was disappointed in myself for barely eating my favorite dish of quesadilla de chorizo. Certainly not the blandest item on the menu.

Today is the beginning of week 8. I am still feeling all of the aforementioned symptoms. Due to the nausea, I decided to cut back on my million and one supplements this past weekend, keeping only the prenatal vitamin for the baby's own good. I continue to take frequent naps on my off days from work.

Close friends know that I have been obsessed with all that I can learn about this baby growing inside me. Here are a couple of my favorite baby sites:

Baby Center

What to Expect

I have also always enjoyed hearing other people's stories. NPR did an excellent piece this summer on mothers and their baby stories. Here's the link to catch all the interesting, intriguing stories of these mothers.

Hospital visit

One of my fellow nurses was admitted to the hospital yet again yesterday. I stopped by to visit after my daily 4:30 PM huddle meeting this afternoon.

My co-worker told me her story of how this admission is due to chest pain, of which she does have a legit cardiac history. She is in her 30's. She is a smoker. She is a mother, daughter, and wife. As a cardiac nurse, she admittedly does know better. This hospital visit is hopefully a wake up call to make some changes in her life.

She quietly then told me that she's been meaning to ask me something personal. She suggested that perhaps the string of unfortunate events (ie her health, marriage, finances, family) was happening to her due to her lack of a spiritual life. She was wanting to know how she could talk to a priest. I advised her how she could simply call a parish and request to speak with one. I personally recommended Fr Harry.

I asked her how her own faith, her own prayer life was. She shared how her mother committed suicide and that she was angry with God for a time. But she has realized that it was her own mother's poor choice, her own free will to make such a decision.

I, in turn, shared the gospel with her from this past weekend.
Jesus asks his disciples, "Who do people say I am?"
They reply, "John the Baptist, one of the prophets..."
Jesus then asks them, "Who do you say that I am?"
Peter replied, "You are Christ, son of God."

Fr Harry challenged us this weekend. If Jesus were to ask us, "Who do you say I am?" What would be your answer? My immediate answer this past weekend and what I shared with my fellow nurse this evening is that Jesus is my friend.

I talk with Jesus as I would speak with a close friend. I'm honest. I tell him I'm tired and weak. I told her my prayer that carries me before going to work every time is for love and patience for all those I encounter and/or any situation I will face.

She expressed feeling desolate. I of course had to share Ignatian spirituality with her. I touched on the key point of "finding God in all things." Finding God in each person I encounter, those you love, those who annoy you or who you may struggle to love.

As I have come to know by heart, I shared with her the Falling in Love reflection by Pedro Arrupe, SJ.

“Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in a love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the mornings, what you will do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”

I encouraged her to find the good, our God in everything.

I couldn't help but feel honored to share my faith, to share Christ with her.

A secret

A secret that brings peace and joy to my heart.

I wanted to shout this secret from the rooftops! But my cautious side had me acting otherwise. I went about my work day as if nothing had happened, but I was certainly quietly joy-filled. I soon had to tell the chosen few to start! I hesitated posting about this until I shared this "secret" with close family and friends.

The joyful secret is that my husband and I are finally pregnant. Not that we were trying to conceive for that long, though it felt like it at times!

It was no secret that we were trying to conceive. I jokingly told some co-workers and friends that our honeymoon, which we took two years after our wedding date, could actually be called our "conception-moon." I knew the dates were off to actually conceive at the time, but it was fun to think and joke around about. A fellow nurse asked if I had ever heard of Kokopelli. She told me of this fertility god, which her sister had believed in and eventually had a son. We googled this Native American deity and found out more for ourselves. She still has yet to lend this Kokopelli doll to me. Not that I need it anymore.

Being Catholic, my husband and I have been followers of Natural Family Planning. I have been charting (on and off) my temperatures and cervical mucus since well before we were married. I was pretty confident when I was fertile and not so fertile. We had the avoiding pregnancy thing down!

On my off days from work, I was pretty obsessed in finding out how we could best improve our chances at trying to conceive. But we were already avoiding alcohol, we are non-smokers, and we generally were following a good diet. It was assuring to read the statistics that only 25% of couples get pregnant during the first month of trying, but over half get it right in the next six months.

As we are barely at six weeks now, my greatest fear in sharing our "secret" is the risk of miscarriage. Russ and I talked about this. We decided that we wouldn't want to keep it a secret should we happen to miscarry the little one. And it sure would be nice if our faith-filled family and friends are offering their prayers up for the health of the baby.

Perhaps the part of me that doesn't care to be the center of attention is also setting in, to keep this good news quiet for now. Because the few essential people know now, maybe I wouldn't mind if this secret was leaked.

Tomatoes

Have you ever watched a tomato grow?

It's pretty fascinating.

Russ and I first bought three tomato plants from the farmer's market back in May. There were no blooms, no tomatoes. Hope of a single tomato was yet to be seen.

But ever so slowly, the yellow blooms appeared. Maybe it was the sunlight, the water, more soil, the transferring of plants to larger pots, placing the stakes. Perhaps we were doing something right!

I became hopeful. But soon the small yellow flowers began to wither. They appeared as though they had died so quickly. I almost wanted to prick them off the little branch, but since I barely knew a thing about plants, I had the inkling to let the shriveled up flowers just be for now.

So we continued to water, to monitor for growth. One morning before work, I carefully examined the dead blossoms. Lo and behold! The beginnings of a tomato!

Picture it with me. The shriveled up looking part was actually the bottom portion of a tomato. A tiny green tomato was already beginning to form. Imagine my happiness! It's as if I had a eureka moment in discovering what I thought was dead had come back to life. It was kind of a resurrection moment.

On the recent TEC retreat, a quote supposedly by St Ignatius (not sure if it was of Loyola or Antioch) goes "little deaths, little resurrections." In my eyes, he almost meant this quote to be for the tomatoes.

Over the past couple weeks, the tomatoes have grown larger and ripened into beautiful red tomatoes right before our eyes. Perhaps the growth of tomatoes could be a reflection of what happens when we attempt to cultivate our faith, just as we have tried cultivating our precious little tomato plants.

TEC

Teens Encounter Christ

I made my first TEC retreat when I was 17 as a junior in high school.

12 years later, I was asked to lead as an adult on this retreat for teens, even though my patients and co-workers often point out that I look like a teenager myself. Since hearing it in college, I have often passed along the Dorothy Day quote, "Comfort the afflicted; afflict the comfortable." Being 29 and rarely interacting with teens these days, I was asked to step out of my comfort zone as I became part of the TEC retreat team. I felt a slight discomfort at each of the planning meetings beforehand. There was a woman whom the others refer to as Mama Beth. Beth and I had worked together on the wheat team on a previous TEC. She always greeted me with a hug and made me feel comfortable. It is clear why they call her mama. To me, she personifies Christ.

Prior to the arrival of the candidates, the directors of this TEC retreat reminded us that this retreat was about the teenagers. We were encouraged to show and speak of the love God has for each one of them, each one of us. It was no mistake that they were present on the TEC weekend. It was somehow all a part of God's plan.

Reflecting back to my first TEC as a teen, I recall being most touched by the wheat letter my mother wrote to me. Being raised by filipino parents, the words "I love you" weren't often spoken so much as shown in action versus literal word. My mom wrote that she loved me very much, even though she didn't verbalize it frankly. The tears poured upon reading her letter.

But I digress.

While the TEC retreat this time around wasn't about me, I couldn't help but be touched by the talks shared by the team. In our brokenness and in our joys, God is so apparently alive and with us. I found myself tearful more than a few times, as I listened to the hopes, the hurts, the honesty, the desire to return to God, the fears, the failures, the faith, the love. We share Christ in our human stories. It is quite the beautiful thing.

I forget what a powerful weekend TEC can be, as long as one enters with an open mind and heart.