Before I was ready to have children, I watched "The Business of Being Born," a fascinating documentary about the medicalization of birth in this country. Ina May Gaskin, legendary midwife, was in this film, sharing her experiences with natural birth in her community, dubbed "The Farm." This community was founded in the 70's by a group of cross-country-caravaning-hippies from the Haight-Ashbury district in San Francisco. The Farm is much less populated today, but people still travel from across the country to see it, mainly because of the midwives. While the United States has a 30-35% c-section rate, The Farm has less than 2%. They have helped women birth over 2,000 babies in their 40 years of existence. The statistics are quite impressive.
I have been wanting to go to "The Farm" since the day I found out I was pregnant. I had dreams of visiting Ina May, her community, and having one last road trip with George. After a garage sale, penny-pinching, and random blessings falling into our lap, we were able to make the roadtrip happen.
We left at 5:30 in the morning last Tuesday, and arrived that evening. Sweet George didn't even sleep until we were in the car...he worked until late Monday night, then when he got home, tidied up the place and packed. He's been exerting so much energy both at work and at home lately. He really sacrificed a lot to make this trip happen for us, even though it was mainly my prerogative to abandon responsibility for a few days and take a road-trip to Tennessee.
I really loved driving east into the sunrise on Tuesday, and driving west into the sunset on Thursday. I turned my phone on Airplane Mode, and used the map I printed off prior to leaving. I had a playlist ready to go. I had been looking forward to this trip, unsure if we were even going to be able to pull it off, for months. The music in the speakers, combined with the sunrise ahead of me and my sleeping man beside me, brought tears to my eyes. After being on a stretch of highway for a while, and right as the sky was beginning to light up on the horizon, Animal Collective's, "What Would I Want? Sky" song came on. Sometimes, I feel like I'm in a movie, and the music playing at a particular moment is the most intricately selected soundtrack. This was one of those times.
Immediately after that song was "When You Come Back Down" by Nickel Creek. My dad wrote out the lyrics to this song in a letter to me, on the day I moved into my dorm. The lyrics put a lump in my throat everytime I hear them. This trip was no different. "You gotta leave me now, you gotta go alone, you gotta chase a dream, one that's all your own, before it slips away... When you're flying high, take my heart along, I'll be the harmony to every lonely song that you learn to play... When you're soaring through the air, I'll be your solid ground, take every chance you dare, I'll still be there, when you come back down. When you come back down." During this song, I began sobbing, feeling an intense array of emotions. Finally going to a place I've yearned to see. Having a dream literally come true. Knowing that when the trip was over, we were going to move in with my parents, and have our own little baby. Grateful for George, working to make this trip happen because he knew how much it meant to me. Grateful to my parents for keeping their opinions about this trip to themselves and allowing me, even as a grown woman, to learn my own lessons.
*(Sidenote, little did I know, I was going to come back down. Two days later. To his and my mom's house, then to the emergency clinic, with a bloodclot in my right leg.)
"Orange Sky" by Alexi Murdoch was the next song, and that was literally when the sunglasses went on. The sunrays were bright, and I was driving straight into them. The summation of perfect songs and a rising sun was transcendent. George woke up shortly after, and we continued to drive through Arkansas.
We saw signs for President Bill Clinton's childhood home, and decided to stop and check it out. Maybe it's because we are desperately wanting a home to call our own, or maybe because we both are huge fans of Bill Clinton, but regardless, we loved that place.
|His childhood bedroom|
My favorite part of road-tripping is stopping randomly after seeing a sign for something (could be interesting/funny/random), and experiencing something locally, without a plan to do so.
We got back in the car and kept on driving to Tennessee.
Many hours, bathroom breaks, and windy country roads later, I slammed on my breaks and then reversed a few feet. The entrance to The Farm was so rural, so small, and so NOT advertised...I ALMOST PASSED BY!
"Tuesday's Gone," by Lynyrd Skynyrd, began pouring out through the speakers while the wind was pouring in the open sunroof. That moment was surreal. There was a big yard with a TON of roosters and chickens in many cages to the right. To the left was the Welcome Center of The Farm. There was also a warning that the cages to the right did NOT belong to The Farm, and a word of caution to stay away...that they would call the police. We heard a gunshot right after reading the notice! We laughed, got back in the car, and continued down the windy roads. It was awesome driving down the road into the community knowing that the roads, the land, the houses, the water towers...EVERYTHING here was made BY these people, FOR these people.
|Finally Made It!!!!!|
|Sweet little accents made our accommodation feel enchanting and welcoming.|
|We stayed at a woman named Linda's house. She rents out the lower level.|
We unpacked our groceries, I made dinner (another huge perk, staying here meant a refrigerator, stove, and oven, so we were able to bring and eat our own food, saving us money, and keeping us healthy), and then we spent a lot of time unwinding, stretching, and relaxing.
The next morning, I woke up shortly after the sun started coming through the window. There are few better things in life than waking up to sounds/sights of nature, rather than an alarm clock (or soon to be crying baby). I let George sleep, had some tea and cottage cheese, and read some Ina May (the inspiration for the trip in the first place).
I instantly felt comfortable with her. We told her why we wanted to come, and she tested my urine, measured my fundal height, told me the position of the baby (head down, yay!!!), and listened to the heartbeat with the doppler. She measured me at 36 weeks, and told me I looked 'very pregnant,' more so than the 33 weeks I thought to be. We tried to figure out my due date based on my last cycle, but I just can't remember when that was. My original sonogram due date was 5/4, and it was 5/5 at 20 weeks. Based on when we think Sprout was conceived and my fundal height, things were starting to look more like end of April.
|(Thanks to George for all these great shots!!! I loved my visit with Pamela!!!)|
|"The Wholeo" Stained Glass Globe|
The next morning, George and I packed up and began driving back home. We wanted to take a more scenic route, and go through a few states we'd never seen. We went through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. We stopped in Tupelo, MS and got some Tupelo Honey. This was the last song we danced to at our wedding, so that was a fun and meaningful souvenir. We ate at a fun local diner, with pictures of Elvis everywhere. We stopped a lot, actually. I drank so much water, and went to the bathroom often. I made sure to stretch my legs at each stop.
I specify, because the next day (Friday), I was shocked I had developed a bloodclot in my right leg.
I was shocked because:
(a) I'm generally very healthy. I've never had surgery, never been admitted to a hospital,
(b) I put forth so much effort in PREVENTING the bloodclot. I felt like most people wouldn't have been as conscientious stopping, stretching, heel-pumping, and water-gulping.
But I had an epiphany, and it was indeed a great learning moment for me.
In order to "surprisingly" find out you're pregnant, you ARE healthy.
And I know that the three BIGGEST risk factors for developing a blood clot are pregnancy (estrogen makes you clot...another risk factor is being on birth control), travel, and smoking. I don't smoke, but I had 2 of the 3 on board. I was in the car 12 hours on Tuesday, and 14 on Thursday. Getting the bloodclot didn't mean I wasn't healthy...it affirmed that I AM healthy enough to get pregnant, and I am NOT invincible to risk.
I felt a pain in my right calf Friday morning. I went to my mom and dad's, and enjoyed coffee on the patio with my mom and sister. I told them about the pain, but as a few hours went by, I became more obsessive about it. I called my midwife, and she was out of town (bummer!!!!!!!), but the OBGYN on call told me to take an aspirin a day for a week.
My gut told me to go to the emergency clinic by their house. It would be $150 which would set us back financially, but I knew that if it was a clot, it could be lethal. I knew the exact test I needed, an ultrasound of my right leg, to determine if there was or was not a clot. If there wasn't a clot, it would be an expensive cost for peace of mind, but worth it.
After the ultrasound, the ER doc came in the room and told me it was a DVT, and I was being admitted to the hospital I plan to deliver. I was surprisingly happy at first, because I had a gut feeling and I listened to it, and I was right! But then I realized the severity of the situation, and became more concerned.
There was a lot of miscommunication at the hospital. Another lesson I learned? YOU HAVE TO BE YOUR OWN ADVOCATE. Speak up. At all times. Otherwise you will end up paying more money... (I almost had to go to the ER at Lewisville Medical, but I insisted the emergency clinic had called ahead with a room for me as a direct-admit. Had I not been insistent about this, I would have had to pay that $150 ER fee twice!!!)... and could potentially receive improper medical treatment.
The internist almost hung a bag of Heparin on my IV (the strongest anti-coagulant I'm aware of). Keep in mind I haven't had an ASPIRIN in 8 months for fear of what it would do to the baby. So this seemed very extreme, but I also thought at this point that I could die, and that was the main priority.
The radiologist had a different diagnosis than the ER doctor, and it turned out to work in my favor. The clot was superficial, not deep, so I didn't have to have the Heparin. I received a total of (3) Lovenox (blood thinning) shots. The next morning, they did a scan on both legs, and the clot was gone. The pain was gone, too. They also did continuous fetal monitoring and an ultrasound. Baby checked out good.
She did, however, measure at 5.5 pounds, and 35 weeks (instead of the 33 I thought I was). That meant if I went to 40 weeks exactly, the due date would be 4/20 instead of 5/5. I looked at a calendar, and there is a full moon on 4/25, so THAT IS MY OFFICIAL GUESS. April 25, still a Taurus, 10 days ahead of what we planned, and 1 month from now.
So there it is. A super long blog post with a title reminiscent of "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe." The Farm was my Aslan, The Clot was my White Witch, and Sprout's Due Date is the Wardrobe. I can't believe I'm about to cross over into parenthood. I'm grateful for our last pre-baby adventure, even with the clot. I learned a lot. I was afraid my mom was going to say "I told you that trip wasn't a good idea!" but she didn't. She said something to the extent of, "The insistent part of you that listened to your heart and brought you out on that trip, was the same part of you that listened to your gut and got you to the hospital." She was proud of me for going with my instincts.
I've heard instincts improve drastically with motherhood.
Maybe I'm well on my way.