Never Planned on Bed Rest

By Lisa Cole
4/30/08
Thirty weeks into my pregnancy my belly became really tight and I discovered a lump in my abdomen the size of a lemon. My obgyn confirmed the lump was merely an inflamed fibroid but I also learned I was 70% effaced. Gulp. With seven weeks to go until full term my doctor prescribed bed rest.

I'd heard of plenty of pregnant women going on bed rest but never assumed I'd be one of them. All along I'd been very active – walking, yoga, swimming… Now I was being asked to be still – a concept I've never been very good at.

How was I going to manage bed rest? I don't even sleep in on weekends. I'm type A. I plan. Schedule. Do. And then I plan some more. It's an admittedly viscous cycle but it's always been my m.o. for as long as I can remember. I started to panic at the notion of being forced to check out of society and sit on my duff. My doctor said I should comply for two weeks, but I knew better. It's not like the cervix is some magical rubber band that thins out one day then magically snaps back the next. Well, at least not before a baby is born. "Two weeks" was my kind doctor's way of saying it's really gonna be seven, but if I tell you that now I know you'll totally freak out. Too late -- the freak out was already well underway.

Desperately seeking solace from my unexpected sentence I phoned a few friends but was shocked by their responses: Lucky girl! Take advantage of it. Work it. Milk it. Wish I could lie around and read books. Rent movies. Kick back. Eat bon bons. Enjoy!
Enjoy? Seriously?!

Couldn't anyone understand the larger picture here? Being ordered to bed rest meant there was a threat my baby would come early… and that would mess up all my plans! He was supposed to be born a Gemini the end of May. May 27th more precisely. For months I'd boasted about the fact my kid would join the 5% of babies actually born on their 'due date'. May 27th was going to be the perfect birthday. I'd already picked out a poem written by Rumi about that exact date. Coming early was definitely NOT part of the plan. We were in the middle of buying our first house and planning to move the end of April. We had all kinds of details to accomplish before then. The floors required a lot of work and the entire upstairs was in desperate need of a paint job. I had to choose wall colors and tile. The place needed to be green cleaned and somewhat decorated. We didn't even have any furniture yet. I'd scheduled to have my pregnant belly photographed. My baby shower needed to happen so I could set up the nursery. I still had to buy organic laundry soap and wash all the new baby clothes. I wanted to smudge all the rooms with sage and relax on the new patio. But, first I had to find suitable patio cushions. I needed time to unpack, grow accustom to our new surroundings, feel the place transform into our home. My husband and I had not yet gone on a 'babymoon' or had a final date night as a parentless couple. We still had countless childbirth, breastfeeding and infant CPR classes ahead. We hadn't packed the hospital bag or compiled a bribe basket of goodies for the nurses. The car wasn't washed and the infant car seat hadn't been installed. I didn't own a single nursing bra or boppy pillow. I needed time to practice meditation and labor breathing exercises. I still had seven hypnobirthing tapes to listen to. For crying out loud, we still hadn't even decided on our baby's name!!

Personal details aside, there was also the challenge of the mechanics of bed rest. The thought of staying in bed 24/7 might sound delicious to some, but to me it sounded torturous. Going to bed pregnant each night was something I had come to dread as it meant restlessness, incessant side flipping, concern about squishing the baby, achy hips, night sweats, dry mouth, insomnia and hourly trips to the bathroom. The thought of having to also spend my waking hours in bed was almost more than this control freak could handle.

The first few days of bed rest were haaaaard. I wasn't inundated with doting visitors. Hardly anyone even called. Turns out, most people are busy with their lives in the land of the living. The months prior to bed rest had already morphed me into someone my non-knocked up friends had a hard time relating to. Exhausted, I could hardly stay awake past 8:00 p.m. My ankles ballooned to cankles so shopping was out. Having tried for nearly two years to conceive I'd long ceased drinking. I didn't even indulge in coffee anymore. But, now… Now, I'd really become a full-fledged alien from the person I used to be. Overnight, my new diagnosis had turned me into a bed bound needy blob. Lonely, I phoned my busy working friends at work, but they were (sigh) busy working. When I did manage to wrangle their time I tried to sound light-hearted but I'm sure I did a lousy job masking self-pity and frustration. My husband, who'd already assumed the lion's share of household chores since the first trimester (i.e., changing the cat litter because I was paranoid about toxoplasmosis) was now saddled with even more mundane duties. Wanting to prevent our baby from arriving early he took our doctor's words to heart, assumed the role of protector – god love him - and refused to let me do anything.

Sure, there was plenty I could do from my new command post of bed. Besides the millions of details related to a remodel and a move, I had a looming work project long over due. Yet, something curious happened. Instead of rolling up my sleeves to tackle a new 'to do list' productivity screeched to a halt. The part of me so used to doing was suddenly rendered crippled. I felt as if I'd been derailed, unhinged and was coming unglued. Instead of taking action, I fumed, I ranted, I raged. My rational mind told me this was not healthy behavior for the baby or me. But, my frustration with my situation continued to build to a frenzy. Alone most of the day, I took out my anger on the phone with customer service agents for Bank of America, Blue Shield and Pottery Barn. When I had no calls left to make the cat and dog became my new best confidants. But, after awhile I could tell I was boring even them. Sick of myself, I finally decided to take action and picked up one of the fourteen books about childbirth I'd ordered from Amazon but had not yet made the time to read. Cracking open Ina May Gaskin four simple words jumped out and smacked me in the face: "release and let go"…

I'm thirty-six and a half weeks now and still hanging on. I lost my mucus plug ten days ago; I'm 80% effaced and 1-2 cm dilated. Baby boy has descended the birth canal to -1 station. For all practical purposes, we're all systems go. People tell me I look ready to burst. I saw my doctor today and he said we definitely wouldn't make it to our May 27th due date. Oh well. At least I know my baby's lungs are nearly fully developed now and he'll be born healthy if we do go into labor tonight. Of course, I'm still hoping we'll hold out at least another six days in order to reach 'full term' of 37 weeks. I remain on bed rest for the simple reason we're scheduled to move in sixty-seven hours from now. The closing date on our escrow was pushed three times in the past month and the sellers moved out twenty-three days later than planned. Our new house is a complete wreck. The previous occupants left behind loads of debris and there are gaping holes in multiple walls from the electrician. The painter hasn't begun to paint and the floor guy has yet to set the plywood in the kitchen. Currently, there are no windows in the nursery and there's toxic dust everywhere from all the sanding. All of our belongings are boxed up in storage.

My grand plans have been all but laid to rest. For now I survive day-to-day, moment-by-moment. Each time I stand up I pray my water won't break just yet. But, I've learned to roll with it. Oh, I still have my moments. Truth be told, I'd so welcome the luxury of even 24 hours in the new house before our baby boy makes his entrance. (oh please, oh please, oh please!). I sing him a silly song several times a day about staying put. But, six+ weeks since this bed rest business began, I've finally come to terms with the fact there's nothing I can do to prevent him from coming should he decide it's his time to come. He has the upper hand. He has full control. And I'm okay with that. After all, he's the one who's worked the hardest on this journey developing from an embryo into a full-fledged baby boy. My son and I are in this together. Soon, we will endure our labor both working hard for the same end goal. And once he's safely in my arms I know from that moment on he will have full control of my heart forever. It seems my lesson through all of this has been to relinquish the notion of control. Thankfully, the miracle of birth is completely untethered from my need to impose a sense of perceived order to my whacky universe.

Bed rest has not been easy, to say the least, but if I'd not been forced to slow down and be still I may never have encountered Ina May Gaskin's simple words of wisdom that helped me get through the past couple of months: "release and let go". I'm planning to carry this helpful little mantra with me into labor – whenever it may occur. And, having never been a mother before I have a hunch these four words might also come in handy in the days and years to come.

Namaste Dylan and Jennifer

Warning Yoga Mamas: Jennifer Olson, a Sunday regular since week 3 of her pregnancy, unfortunately lost her baby at 22 weeks. This is her story. In my opinion, her story is completely inspiring. However, if you tend to be super sensitive and/or anxious, maybe you should skip reading this entry.

We miss you Jen.

Dylan Magnus Olson, born and died Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Birth/Death Story

In the late afternoon on a Sunday, I laid in bed staring up at the ceiling. Liam climbed up and snuggled next to me. Within moments he fell asleep, his two-year old body curled up against my belly. Dylan kicked like crazy, and I wondered if Liam could sense his brother’s in-utero movements. This is the closest you will ever come to knowing each other. I wanted time to stop for the three of us. I wanted every aspect of that moment – the sound of the neighbor’s dog barking, the sun streaming in through the windows, the smell of Liam’s baby shampoo - permanently fixed in my memory. Then I looked at the clock and realized that the pharmacy would close in ten minutes. I had to pick up a prescription for Cytotec, little square white pills that would start contractions and end Dylan’s life.

Dylan would not live, no matter what I did. He had Pallister-Killian Syndrome, complicated by a hole in his diaphragm. No child with this diagnosis has ever survived birth. Even if he had, by some enormous miracle, survived the birth and the surgery required to fix his diaphragm, his suffering and ours would have continued. People with PKS never walk or speak, and are afflicted by severe mental retardation along with vision and hearing problems. There was no question in my mind that ending the pregnancy was the only compassionate thing to do.
Although Dylan’s fate was already determined for us, we still had to decide how to do it. Even in this dark version of childbirth there are choices.

Lots of women who get a diagnosis like ours decide to terminate via “Dilation and Extraction.” They go under general anesthesia and wake up no longer pregnant. With most D & E’s, there are no remains. The parents never get to see their children. I very nearly went for that option. In fact, I called my OB/GYN the day I got the news and begged her to do a D & E immediately. In my grief, I bought into the illusion that skipping the physical trauma of childbirth would somehow ease the emotional pain. I could wake up refreshed, as if the entire pregnancy was just a bad dream.

The other option presented to me was to give birth. What could be more macabre than giving birth to a dead baby? But then again: we conceived a baby. I nurtured him in my womb as best I could for nearly six months. And now it was my body that would release him from his broken body, through the birth process. If I skipped a step, it would never feel complete. A little research revealed that my instincts were right. Many women who opt for the D & E later report a vague feeling, like they can never fully process the death of their child. One friend told me that she thought she was losing her mind after her D & E. With no physical evidence aside from a few ultrasound pictures and sympathy cards, she thought maybe she had imagined the whole pregnancy. Even ten years later she was unable to close the door on the experience.
Having decided to give birth, I checked into Good Sam on a Monday night in April. Logically – and quite illogically - they put me on the Labor and Delivery floor. Within minutes of arriving, I heard it. The sound of a newborn letting out that beautiful first wail. A sound my son would never make. I asked if we could move to another floor - perhaps one meant for old, dying people? Instead, they escorted us to our room right away, and I promptly closed the door and turned the television on.

For the next twenty-four hours, I labored to the sound of healthy babies being born. I could still hear those newborn cries through the hospital room door. I sobbed every time. I just want this to be over. But then something amazing happened. Sometime in the night, I heard a different sound. One of those mothers had obviously not opted for pain medication. She was whooping like a peacock, blissfully unafraid to vocalize no matter who heard her. I got out of bed and cracked the door open to listen. The wailing stopped and after a few seconds, the newborn cries began. The doctor announced the baby’s weight – I don’t remember the number exactly, but it was over eight pounds. I felt like cheering for her! I had to stop myself from wandering into her room to congratulate her.

After that, I opened the door wide and turned the television off. There was something reassuring about hearing those newborn cries every few hours; and hearing the husbands, friends and mothers’ shouts of joy when the baby arrived. I remembered giving birth to Liam, and those first few moments of holding him, feeling both exhausted and exhilarated. I am no longer jealous of the other women laboring in the hospital with me. Suddenly, I want to walk down to the nursery and look at all the newborns, just to marvel at the wondrous process – conception, gestation, birth - that brought each one into the world.

The nurse gave us a book on grieving pregnancy loss during our stay. My husband read aloud the list of feelings and behaviors we could expect. We would not sleep, or eat, or maybe we’d eat and sleep too much, the book warned. We would start hating our pregnant friends. We would ignore our living children, or start spoiling them rotten. We would be terrified of ever trying to conceive again. It has only been a few weeks, but so far I feel none of these things. My pregnant friends have been beautifully supportive, because they most of all understand this loss. I’m eating a normal amount (soft cheese, sushi, wine…) and sleep soundly every night. My husband and I have been working less and spending more time with Liam. And we’re already talking about a next attempt, not right away but when another baby won’t carry the burden of substituting for Dylan.

I think we’re able to process this experience so normally because I gave birth. It wasn’t just that we were able to hold the baby, take his picture and say goodbye. It was the twenty-four hours that I spent in the hospital. Those women giving birth that night will never know it, but they helped me make meaning of my son’s short life. They provided a context in which he could be born and I could still feel good about it. However macabre, however sad this situation, I gave birth nonetheless.

One final footnote, because I can’t stop myself from considering the political: the procedure I went through, that was so healing for me, is what the religious right has named a “partial-birth abortion.” This is not a medical term; it’s a misleading phrase they invented up to scare people into making it illegal. During the Clinton administration, many women who went through the same procedure gave testimony in Congressional hearings. It is only because they were courageous enough to do so that the procedure remains legal.

Mummy and Me at Yummy Yoga

Castor Oil: Pros and Cons

Castor Oil is a home remedy for inducing labor dating back to ancient Egypt. It is a thick, dense, syrupy oil that your grandparents may have used in order to cleanse their bowels when constipated. Castor oil is often recommended by midwives and Doctors as an alternative to pitocin induction.

Does it work to induce labor? About 50 percent of the time.

How does it work? "When the bowels are stimulated, your body makes prostaglandins. These hormones are helpful to contract the smooth muscles of your body including the uterus. Some people also think that castor oil may work by causing dehydration, which is also known to stimulate contractions." www.suite101.com

What happens? Within an hour or so, your bowels will begin emptying. You may or may not have heavy cramping. You may or may not have severe diarhea. Either during this phase or sometime soon afterwords, your uterus should begin contracting and labor will begin.

How should the castor oil be taken? Take 2-4 ouces of castor oil. The oil tastes pretty bad so mix it up with orange juice or ice cream or both to make it bearable. Be sure to drink lots of water so that you don't get too dehydrated during this process.

Are there side effects to this method? Some say that there is a greater chance of meconium passage from the baby which increases risk of infection. However, this has not been studied and doesn't make sense. The oil does not go into the blood stream. It goes through the mother's digestive system so it shouldn't cause problems for the baby. Definately talk to your doctor about this.

What are the pros? You may avoid a pitocin drip and have a greater chance of delivering your baby naturally.

What are the cons? You may spend a lot of time on the toilet having severe cramps, severe diarhea along side some severe contractions. You may be having diarhea while your baby is being delievered. You may get very dehydrated and tired from the process. Or it may not work at all for you.

DO yourself a favor and don't take advice from some silly yoga teacher who has a blog. Ask your midwife or OBGYN if they advise taking castor oil.

Acupressure towards Labor

So, I am a huge fan of acupuncture and acupressure. I get acupuncture every other week. I find it super relaxing. The best nap ever. I do know a good deal about the meridian system and I incorporate a lot of acupressure in my work as a massage therapist.

Jason Starr, the acupuncturist at Berlin Wellness who specializes in pre and post-natal, gave me a pamphlet on acupressure for pain relief during labor. It's about 25 pages long and very comprehensive. It teaches you about 10 different pressure points, how to work with those points, what they affect, etc. It's a really great hand-out. Check it out at this link: http://acupuncture.rhizome.net.nz/acupressure/Acupressure.pdf

So, you can use these points for pain relief during labor. OR you can use these same points to help induce labor. I typically start working these points at around 37 weeks with my massage clients. But you could do this at home with your partner if you wanted. Spend 30 minutes before bed working on the different points and exploring them together. During the last few weeks of your pregnancy, you can learn about these points and how they affect you energetically. Then when you do go into labor, your partner will be familiar with them and apply what he/she knows to help you cope with the pain. Have fun with it!

P.S. if you took Juliette's labor prep class, you'll see that about half of these acupressure points coincide with what she taught you in that workshop. Cool stuff.