My Fall From Psychotic Pt. 8

Even with all of the drama and horrible things happening that year, my pregnancy was going alright. As I neared 26 weeks, I started getting scared. Worrying incessantly whether the baby would make it past that mark, or if it would be Keegan all over again.
My high risk doctor knew my history, including what happened with Keegan. And somehow, he planned to keep things calm from my 24th week on, without my knowledge until my 24th week appointment.

To be continued....
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Before I launch into Pt. 8, for those of you who haven't read the other 7 parts, I suggest that you do one of 2 things. One, read the other 7 installments, so that you are current. Or two, skip this post. Without reading the other parts, you aren't going to fully grasp the idea behind this post, and might find it a tad confusing. Or maybe you won't, I can't predict that. BUT.. I am pressing on with the "Fall from Psychotic" series after a fair amount of pressuring from fellow bloggers who did read my back posts, and are anxious for the next step. Oh, and for T-Bone. He loves to read about himself. I still love ya, baby.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Stopping all of the medications that I took on a daily basis took a lot of getting used to. I not only stopped taking them, but I did it in the worse way possible. I went cold turkey. That isn't something that you can do with Xanax and Lithium. The Prozac wasn't a problem, but getting used to life without the other two took a ton of adjusting. When my ordeal was stabilized, I vowed to never take an antidepressant again.

My doctor had other thoughts. He knew what kind of stress I was under as I neared that dreadful 26 week mark, and suggested at my 24th week appointment that I consider ramping back onto antidepressants for the remainder of my pregnancy.

Sure, I was worried. I was stressed. I cried quite a bit when the thoughts of losing another child overwhelmed me. But, under no circumstances, was I going back on those pills. I was stronger than that. I could do without it. And somehow, I took one for the team, sucked it up, and plowed on without them. The whole time, I reassured myself that things would be fine, it was just a state of mind, that nothing was going to happen to this baby.

In the back of my mind, the thoughts that doomsday was approaching still riddled my waking hours. I soothed myself with a very hard knock to reality. I survived the death of a premature child once, if it happened again, I could deal with it. I was strong. I wouldn't like it, and it would probably end my child bearing days forever, but for the sake of my sanity, I pressed on with these thoughts raging inside my head like a thundering storm cloud.

My 26th week came and went, with nothing major going on other than an occasional urinary tract infection. The sense of doom never left me, even as I felt my little one growing bigger and healthier. It never left when late in my 6th month, the baby decided to lodge his head in my canal and leave it there for the duration of my pregnancy. In fact, I think that maneuver made my impending doom seem worse, for the awful pains I would get when he moved had me wanting to throw in the towel on more than one occasion.

A month and a half before the little guy was due, T-Bone was out of town on a work trip to meet potential and existing clients for his mill. The very same night that he settled down in Ohio, I swore my water broke. I awoke from a nap to find my water bed soaked in a huge puddle beneath me. I scoured the bed, checking for leaks, and realized that there was no way the bed had left that puddle. I called my mother, and had her take me to the doctor's.

My water didn't break, or spring a leak, but the little guy had decided to use my bladder as a punching bag. Embarrassing as it was to find out I had no control over my bladder anymore, it was a huge relief to still have my waters intact. I was not ready to deliver this baby yet.

By the end of December, I was wishing that it was over. I could barely move anymore, my sleep was almost zero, and my body was being abused in ways I never thought possible. And that was my 5th pregnancy, to boot. As January dragged on, I found myself faced with the same information each time I visited my doctor. Things are looking great, you will make it to your due date.

A week and a half before my due date, I went in for an appointment and was seen by my doctor's assistant, instead of himself. And thank the powers that be for small miracles. The lady started my usual internal, and immediately went into shock. She looked me in the eye, and said "Do you realize that this baby has its head lodged in your canal? I can feel it!" I gave her my corporate eyebrow, and responded with something nice along the lines of "you think you can feel it, try being me" when all I wanted to say was "Hey, no shit?!? Really?? And here I thought that I was passing a bowling ball of a kidney stone!"

I can't dis this woman, as much as I'd like to. She immediately called the doctor in, who was in the building but busy elsewhere. She looked him in the eye, and said "I really think that you should put this poor lady out of her misery and take this baby. She's so uncomfortable that she can barely walk! There's no way she's going to make it through the next week in any sort of comfort."

Without blinking an eye, he told the lady to set me up to be induced after the weekend. But, but.. it was Friday! I wasn't ready! Yes, it hurt. And yes, it was uncomfortable. But labor and delivery was always something I could never get my head around. I knew how much it hurt, and I didn't want to do it. No way, Jose.

I told T-Bone when I got home that he could be expecting an early February baby. Great, he knew that. So I wowed him a bit more, and offered a February 1st baby. He was ecstatic. He was in more of a rush to have this baby out in the real world than I was.

The weekend was pretty uneventful, a lot of cleaning and arranging before we left for a couple of days. Monday morning hit, and I woke with butterflies flitting around the enormous baby in my belly. The time was here. There was no turning back.

We arrived at the hospital when we were supposed to, and I was hooked up to the endless supply of machinery. As the baby's heartbeat thumped throughout the room, I lay there and wondered when the pitocin was going to be delivered.

The doctor showed early that morning, totally to my surprise. He waltzed in and produced a pair of gloves out of thin air. Now, let me say that this guy has a horrible sense of humor. Actually, he doesn't even have one. He had no bedside manner either. My appointments with him always went the same way. Few words, nothing but the facts ma'am.

So when he looked me in the eye, and announced that he was "here to break my vater" (did I mention he wasn't American?) I recoiled in fear. But, but... WHY?!?!? I moaned from my spot on the bed. A queer look passed over his face. "Because we want to have this baby before 5:00". Again I moaned my Why's. "Everybody goes home at 5. This baby needs to be out so we can all go home!" I took a closer look at his face to see why he looked so hideous, and realized with horror what I was seeing. The man was... smiling. Grotesquely, of course. But he was still smiling. The first I had seen since meeting this man so many months ago.

My water was broken, I was hooked to an IV and had pitocin shuttled through my veins, and things were OK for maybe an hour. Then my world was rocked.

The contractions were nasty, and they were hitting fast. It was hard to focus on breathing, since my room had suddenly turned into a 3-ring circus. My mother was there, and she brought my niece as a reminder to her of what happens when you have unprotected sex. Both of T-Bone's sisters were there, anxious to see their new nephew brought into this world. And.. my cousin Kimmy was there. Oddly, since she really hadn't talked to me EVER. Her family decided I must be OK about the time that I started going with T-Bone. They had a soft spot for him. My cousin worked in the hospital, and happened to have some time on her hands, so she dropped by.

The pains rocked my body as everyone in the room guessed how much the baby was going to weigh. Everyone guessed in the 8 pound range. Fine by me, my other 2 boys were in the 8 pound range. Then T-Bone opened his mouth, and granted himself a stare full of daggers since I couldn't talk through my contractions. He announced that his little boy was going to weigh 9 pounds, 3 ounces. That man had a death wish.

T-Bone was snagged by my mother to go for a cigarette, and I thought that it was fine, nothing was changing. I was still out of it from trying to focus on not screaming and moaning in front of an audience, so I barely heard him. My mother started to walk past, and slowed after taking a look at me.

"Oh no. You have to push, don't you?" She asked, in awe.

Well, no. I hadn't thought about it. Until that moment. And all of a sudden, I had to push so bad that I couldn't stand it. She waves me off, saying that they have time for a cigarette, and will return. I floundered around a bit, trying to get comfortable, until they returned.

As they walked in, so did the nurse. She asked how I was doing, and I muttered that I had to push. Nah, not time yet. You're fine. I so wanted to kick her. She conceded to to do an exam, and all of a sudden things went into a downward spin. She looks up at me from between my knees, and announces "do not push", she was going to get the doctor. The baby was set, and so was I.

As the doctor rushed in, T-Bone's sisters, my cousin, my mother, and niece, rushed out. They did their thing with the bed, everyone got into position, and less than 5 minutes later Buckwheat came screaming into the world.

T-Bone cut the cord, and the nurse handed Buckwheat over to T-Bone so that his aunts and grandmother could see him. In the hall, the 2 new aunts started crying copiously, along with T-Bone, as they marveled at the little guy that was now their nephew. T-Bone's oldest sister had their mother's profile laser etched into a medallion on a chain, and she was wearing it that day. As she gazed at her new nephew, she kissed his cheek with the medallion, and muttered that grandma was watching down on him.

The doctors did their thing with me, and I was ready to go back to my room. T-Bone waltzed in after I was settled, and announced that Buckwheat weighed 9 pounds, 5 ounces. Man, he was so close.

We arrived home the day after I delivered, since all systems were a go. As we arrived, we took the baby upstairs to meet T-Bone's aunt. And that's when I found out what T-Bone had never told me.

As she gazed at Buckwheat, she nonchalantly asked T-Bone if we had the paternity test done. I looked at her in shock, and asked what she was talking about.

"The paternity test that T-Bone promised his mother before she passed away. Did you get it done, or do you plan to do it soon?"

T-Bone shrunk in horror, and for once.. was at a loss for words.

To be continued....