k-k-k-katie

I switched from a traditional OB/GYN group to midwives at 32 weeks and it was the best decision of my pregnancy.

2011-03-14T20:24:00.000-07:00

Note: This is the extended version of my birth story ... the abridged version can be found on my favorite website, OffbeatMama.com
http://offbeatmama.com/2011/04/switching-to-midwife

When I got the mind-blowing “pregnant” reading one snowy and dark December morning, I ran into the bedroom and jumped on the bed until my groggy husband caught on and started giggling along with me. It was wonderful. I had little doubt about my first order of business that morning: call my gynecologist’s office and schedule my first prenatal visit. I had been going to the group for years so I scheduled my first prenatal with Dr. R. Done and done. I was much more into daydreaming about the microscopic bean floating around in my belly than worrying about little things like picking a caregiver. I skipped the first chapter of every new pregnancy book I read. I didn’t need to know the difference between midwives, doctors and doulas. Get onto the fun stuff like when I was going to start showing.

Throughout my first two trimesters, things went pretty well. I decided early that I wanted my delivery to be natural – no medication, no epidurals, and no pitocin. I had been present at all three of my sister’s births where she had all of the above and it worked perfectly fine for her. I held no judgment or feelings of superiority over her. But my instinct was telling me that the hundreds of thousands of years of women giving birth without epidurals were evidence enough for me that my body was equipped to get me through a strong and powerful birth. I shared this plan with Dr. R and she told me to keep an open mind. Not necessarily a natural childbirth battle cry, but she didn’t fight my wishes either. It would do, I decided.

At 16 weeks I started going to prenatal yoga and found my instructor to be a new strong and centered being I could tune into. She was a doula and pointed me in the direction of a doula group in the area that offered free (donation-oriented) natural birthing classes. The first night I went I met Amber, a massage therapist and doula who I connected with immediately. My husband also felt a great vibe from Amber and so she became part of the birthing team.

At around 20 weeks, I started to think twice about my OB/GYN group. Through the birthing classes, I learned more about the different hospitals in the area and from others’ anecdotes I started to dread picking between my two unsavory choices that my OB/GYN group would go to. We went in for the ultrasound around this time as well and although that was another mind-buzzing high that we’ll never forget, we happened to have our appointment with another doctor in the group because Dr. R wasn’t working that day. He was totally arrogant and defensive when I told him I was reading a book on the Bradley Method, and all I could think was “I could end up getting this guy if he’s on-call…!” Despite the gentle reassurance from my doula, yoga teacher and prenatal chiropractor that it’s perfectly acceptable to switch caregivers, and that 20 weeks was a great time to make that switch, I was hesitant. The three of them were my circle of pregnancy care that gave me energy. Dr. R was just a means to an end. The dichotomy would be fine.

I continued to put off touring our two hospital choices. My yoga teacher-doula-chiropractor triangle all gushed about a local hospital with a midwife program and a focus on supporting natural childbirth if that was a person’s wish. Their cesarean rate was 12.7%. My hospital choices had rates hovering around 30-35%. Eventually our hospital tour date came along and the whole place just felt wrong. But somehow I still wasn’t allowing myself to think about switching groups. I even asked my husband on our way out if he thought we should pick up the subsidized parking passes. He wisely suggested we wait on that detail. Even so, I felt resigned to our fate of a medicalized birth with a sterile practitioner in a cramped and pitocin-focused hospital. I devoutly read “Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth,” I pored over every offbeat mama childbirth story that popped up in my google reader, and I faithfully attended as many of the doula group childbirth classes I could squeeze into my schedule. I felt strongly that my focus on natural childbirth would rise above the melee and that Amber, Chris and I would make it through with our plans.
One of the biggest blocks I had to switching was my good ol’ fashioned Midwestern guilt over offending Dr. R. Once you pick someone, you stick with them. I would feel so bad switching on her without talking it out with her, but my Midwestern passive tendencies got in the way of that plan and I couldn’t possibly imagine having that conversation face to face. Or even over the phone. And I didn’t have her email address. Cest la vie. Dr. R it was.

The weeks marched on and my belly grew and grew. My little Miyagi squirmed and kicked and got the hiccups every day. Chris and I were both blissfully geeked out at my gorgeous new body and the amazing life inside it. Time piled yet another reason not to switch onto my list. Clearly (to me, at least) there wasn’t nearly enough time to get to know a new caregiver before my birth. It would be like starting out from scratch and Dr. R and I had built something together. Hadn’t we? It was about the same time that I started looking up tour times for the midwife group’s hospital that I went to Dr. R and realized that she never called me by my name. She would sweep in, answer my questions politely, and leave. I didn’t even have a shred of hope that she knew I went by Katie and not Katherine, as my chart must have told her. So much for having built something. So much for me having owed her anything at all. It hit me in the face that I was just another chart to Dr. R.

Switching turned out to be so easy, it was a non-event. I called the midwife group and scheduled my 32 week appointment. I called Dr. R’s office and asked the receptionist to fax my records to the midwife group. Done. Relief. At that point in my pregnancy I was going in so often that I ended up getting to see four of the fifteen midwives and as luck would have it every person that I interacted with in my birth had attended to me at some point prenatally except one (who was just as amazing as all the others anyway).

My decision to switch to this midwife group turned out to be so essential to the beautiful success of my birth not because I had the natural birth I had hoped for, but because I ended up with a medicalized one. The ugly face of high blood pressure reared its unexpected head at my 40-week appointment. I made them switch cuffs twice and take my BP by hand. None of it changed the fact that all signs pointed to pre-eclampsia. After 24 hours of monitoring and wallowing in my own denial, I finally started listening to the things they were saying to me. It was the doctors (who work closely with the midwife group) who were telling me to stay for monitoring, to stay for induction, to just have my baby since I’m here and full term. But it was the midwife that sat down and looked me in the eye and said that she would worry about my health and the health of my baby if I walked out of the hospital (which she reminded me was my choice, not theirs). She promised to start the induction with Cytotec instead of Pitocin. She explained why she felt okay about inducing labor for me and my baby. She promised that if it kicked my labor into gear that I could be taken off of constant monitoring and would be able to get into the tub. I agreed to this inducement I had dreaded for nine months because I trusted the person I had chosen to guide me in my birth.

I labored strong and hard without pitocin or any other drug for 17 hours. I moaned, I grooved, I threw up, I jammed out to my birthing mix, I cried. It was all natural and I felt every painful moment of it, but it was good. During that time I went from ½ of a centimeter to … wait for it… 1 ½ centimeters. I was crushed to realize that although the Cytotec slammed my body into powerful contractions, my baby just wasn’t along for the ride. I was exhausted and stricken. Unfortunately, I still also had very high blood pressure and my midwife was clear that Pitocin was a necessary next step to progress my labor. So I made it clear that if Pitocin was on the order, so was an Epidural. No one tried to talk me out of the epidural, but that was okay. It was 3 a.m. and I needed to rest and let my body do some work without me.

It took just four short hours for me to fully dilate, though I couldn’t really feel the pushing contractions for another 3 hours after that (probably due to the epidural). The most amazing part of my labor was pushing. Well, I guess I’d say the first two hours were pretty great… the third hour got a little old. Then I started needing oxygen and Miyagi’s heart rate started dropping frighteningly low. Not to mention my continuously high blood pressure. In the end the midwife called the doctors and they came in to give me an episiotomy. They also told me they were thinking of grabbing the vacuum extractor, but I assertively let out a forceful “No.” That decision was all it took and two pushes later I heard my husband weeping over my shoulder that it was a boy! My whole world exploded and imploded all in the same moment and everything was perfect. Yes, I had a doctor stitching up my bits, but my son was given a once-over APGAR of 7 and placed gently on my belly where his humongous blue eyes looked up at me in awe. He nursed immediately and the room cleared out to leave us in our bliss.

I feel comfortable with all of the medical twists and turns my labor took. At first I was sad for having missed out on the natural childbirth experience I had envisioned, but I knew I could trust the guidance I was given by the midwives. I knew that they were as centered in their quest for natural childbirth as I was, and that helped me let go of my anxieties when the cascade of interventions took over my labor. Had I stayed with the OB/GYN group, I might have fought harder at the difficult choices I had to make. It might have traumatized me for not having had anyone to trust. I realize that although my original inspiration for natural childbirth (all of my strong ancestral mother spirits) was a valid starting point, the stark reality is that before doctors and hospitals were around, women died in childbirth at a much higher rate. I could have been one of those women. I am so blessed to have my beautiful family, and I am looking forward to my next chance at natural childbirth with the midwives.

Chipotle steak fajitas

2009-07-05T18:53:00.000-07:00

OK. So I plan to actually move/copy this post to the "ManyMealsOfMitchsMeat" blog once I get signed up as a contributor, but until then I will post here since I'm feeling inspired.

Chris made some fabulous steak fajitas tonight.

Why is he not blogging them himself you ask? Why indeed. I don't exactly know, but I do know that I couldn't let these fajitas go unheralded on the internets. They were spicy and complex without more than a sprinkle of lettuce, lime and a fresh tomatillo salsa to complement their flavor. These were made with a round steak and came out nicely cooked - not too tough (though, with round steak we couldn't do them medium rare, which might be nice if we were using a different cut), and it soaked up the marinade beautifully. The chipotle and (our own garden fresh!) cilantro were a fresh and spicy flavor for the meat. I am transposing the recipe for Chris but note that although it was inspired from an episode of "Top Chef Masters" where they made tongue tacos, the recipe is all his. He is getting really good - good thing I married that dude!!

Chipotle Steak Fajitas with Tomatillo-Pepper Salsa
Marinade for the steak
1 tsp olive oil
1 chipotle pepper, chopped (from a can)
handful of cilantro
3/4 tsp Adobo seasoning
salt/pepper to taste

Cut up one round steak into cubes/strips and toss all marinade ingredients together with the raw steak in a plastic baggie or glass bowl. Refrigerate for a few hours. After the steak has marinated (we did 2 hrs), heat a skillet with 1 tsp oil and saute 1/2 an onion until soft. Add the steak and cook to desired doneness.

Tomatillo-Pepper Salsa
4 Tomatillos
3 Thai Dragon Chilis (or any spicy chili pepper - we just happened to buy a Thai Dragon Chili plant last week at the farmer's market .. they're suuuuuper spicy, so 3 teeny peppers is plenty of heat)
1 Orange Bell Pepper, seeded
1 tomato
juice of 1/4 of a juicy lime
handful of cilantro
salt to taste

Put all ingredients in a food processor and chop until desired chunky-ness. Chris pureed them to a pretty smooth sauce.

Serve fajitas with corn tortillas (heat them in the microwave for about 15 seconds .. not 2 minutes like Chris accidentally did :-), chopped lettuce, lime wedges and the tomatillo salsa. Yummmmmmy!

(Thirds:)

2008-07-13T15:02:00.001-07:00

Okay, so a 5 month hiatus from blogging is a little extreme, but what can I say..

I drove through Stillwater with Chris this afternoon. We went to Colly's son Axel's 1st birthday in a park near downtown, so on our way back to minneapolis I took the scenic route through good ol croixwood.

Time feels strange. I'm now to the point where I can look back to over 10 years ago as the last time I was putting around that town, and over TWENTY years since my first memories of living there. I don't, on a day to day basis, feel that 28 is old. I fully recognize that I'm a) still in my 20's, b) have no countable wrinkles, c) have no countable grey hairs, and d) am still able to sit cross-legged on the floor without groaning about my knees or back. However, it's days like these that make me stop and reflect on how much life is already behind me.

I have so many memories. I drive along those roads I used to bike on and it's a veritable slideshow of millions of flashes of moments I haven't thought about in, oh, 10 to 20 years. That feels old. As we drove along the winding neighborhood roads, past houses I've seen a thousand times before, a knot was forming in the pit of my stomach. Life feels like it was so intense then. The feelings of a youth now over were so vivid, even with the pieces of my future all bundled up in the air-conditioned car with me. I wanted to stop. I wanted to pull up into my old driveway, get out of the car, pull weeds from the garden my mom and I would have planted, run down the backyard hill I know like the freckles on my arm, and sit on the patio while my dad cooked a steak on the grill.

My 10 yr highschool reunion is coming up in a few weeks. That also feels old. Back when we were graduating and teachers were saying to us, what do you think you'll be doing in 10 years? Of course, we never had a good answer, since how were we to know? What a ridiculous question, really. From people who had seen the way decades of life pass in flashes, and who had experienced for themselves - many times over, I'm sure - the moment of reflection when you look back and say "wow, I never could have predicted I'd end up here". And I never could have. I'm phenomenally happy, but I never could have predicted it.

The one thing I'm mildly dreading about the reunion is the one thing I'll have to do all night ... make small talk for hours, replaying the same conversation over and over again with everyone I happen to bump into at the hors d'ouvres table. The thing is, I know that when I see these people and begin that same conversation, that I will feel a sincere desire to reconnect and to learn all about the turns their lives have taken. But somehow even the sincerest of small-talk question and answer becomes quickly stagnant and uncomfortable. It's like we all wish we could pop into 90 second booths to rattle off our answers, screech our "oh!"s and "wow!"s, and then have the dinger go off so that we can swiftly and comfortably exit the conversation. That way we could avoid all the weirdness and awkward looking around for someone else to approach or something else to eat. This is probably why reunions are notoriously great spots for drinking. I think I'll suggest this setup.

So we'll see. I'm sure it'll be fine, especially since I'll have Chris as my own little oasis I can melt into if the people overload gets to be too much. But I still think it'll be one of those things that make me feel old.

As we drove along our South Minneapolis street to our house, I started to realize that one day I would be having the same kind of experience I had today, but next time it'll be about my life in my late twenties. One day I'll drive back through this little neighborhood and I'll remember all of those times. All of the sweat and hard work that went into our gardens and lawn and picnic table. Moving here, meeting Chris, going to the corner hardware store, and all those other minute things that feel like the same old same old to me right now.

One day these things too will give me a knot in my stomach for the remembering of it all.

Maria Bamford + baked goods = Saturday on the couch

2008-02-09T11:16:00.000-08:00

My dog is right now sitting up on top of the couch cushions at my left shoulder. I must admit, I'm using his ass as a nice comfy head rest. I watched three new Maria Bamford shows today (can't believe I missed that many!), and the best was the last one where she tells the emergency vet what relation she is to Blossom the pug:

"We're life partners. She's my wife. We're wives."
check it out: http://www.superdeluxe.com/sd/artist/maria_bamford

If only Chip were a girl, he'd be my wife. But at this point, he has to live with the high distinction of head rest.

This week's blog is expressly dedicated to Maria Bamford, for whom I gave my email address to some random website that might convince her to come to Minneapolis, MN. We're currently in second place behind Portland. We deserve Maria much more than those cakeaters. (actually, I know nothing of portlandeers, nor their preference in pastries).

Go and "demand" her yourself, friends! Portland has 39 demands and I made mpls a close 2nd with 38. You can tip the scales! It's not like you have to give out your bank account or ssn ... just your email address. That shit is always quite easy to unsubscribe from.

http://eventful.com/performers/maria-bamford/music-/P0-001-000009214-3

And finally, since you brought up pastries, I must inform you of my new favorite bakery: The Bakers Wife. Yummmmmmmy. It's at the corner of 28th Ave and 42nd st. in South Mpls. It's this tiny little rectangle positively overflowing with flaky, sweet, crunchy, chewy pastry goodness. I got the "Creme Brulee" pastry and it was so custardy and buttery I just wanted to keep eating it. I'm still daydreaming about it. And their croissants (which I immediately recognized as the ones I get at Nokomis coffee shop) are very unique - a bit more substantive outer crust than some croissant purists might like, but I love them. And they're huge. If you're a south-minneapolite, you really should check it out. Call me and I'll go with you. Oh, and Chris loves the crispy/crumby homemade doughnuts we get at Nokomis coffee shop, which I can only assume also come from The Baker's Wife. I must say, the baker's wifey - she knows a good pastry when she makes one.

Mmm. Peas.

2008-02-03T12:53:00.001-08:00

I've noticed that the best I've gotten at blogging is once per month at best... I missed Jan by just a few days. I'll try to get to at least once a week...

Something that made me giggle out loud:
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2008/1/28liebert.html

My favorite:

MY PET PEEVES...

When a can of cheap peas says "Pea Color and Size May Vary" and inside there's just one giant blue pea.

Hah! I hate that. But I do have a passionate love affair with peas. I'll eat them right out of the can without even heating them. Well, I haven't done that in a while... but I'm not against it.

We finally went to "Common Roots" coffee shop today on Lyndale and 26th st. I would love to leave the cubicle farm behind one day and own a little cafe/restaurant/bar. I would have the best breakfast burritos on the block. And there would be yummy red wine and it would be served in little glass tumblers instead of wine glasses. And we wouldn't serve miller or budweiser products. But where? and when? And how much do I need to save up to start something like that? And how would I actually "do" it, considering I've never even worked in a restaurant, let alone learned how to run one. It makes me wonder if I should get a second job working at a bar or restaurant, just to get closer to learning the biz.

Don't worry, I won't serve cold canned peas. BUT I would serve my mother's wonderful creamed peas recipe in the springtime when there are peas at the farmer's markets. It can't be those stupid new peas that you don't have to shell. I don't get those. It's got to be the real peas that our grandmothers shelled on the porch at the farm. Not that I actually have my own memories of my grandmother on any sort of farm, but I have a romantic vision of women rocking on an old wooden porch swing in the setting sunlight on a warm and breezy late spring evening with a red bowl sitting between them as the dog snatches discarded pea shells. That was quite the run-on sentence. Nice.

2007-12-08T12:23:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I'm pretty pissed right now.. I split a pair of new jeans right up my thigh. BAH! Not only is that money down the drain, but it's yet another sign from the universe that I probably shouldn't have gotten the mayo and cheese on my sammy. Poo.

But I need to rally my spirit, because I have lots of work to do... I visited the fabric store today and of course bought enough fabric to complete FIVE projects... I haven't even started the first one. I'm a little too ambitious sometimes, but hopefully I'll stick with it in order to get these xmas presents pumped out. I'm like a little elf at my sewing machine! Or at least I will be, once I get off my computer and get to it.

Also on the docket for today: spicy hummus. yum! I'm going to a "naughty or nice" party tonight... I'm going to buck the trend of dressing slutty and I'm going to dress like a little girl in pigtails. One that drinks wine and eats hummus.

Time's a wastin........

2007-11-29T19:15:00.001-08:00

Oh, gooooooodness! It's been months and months since my last post. I'm not very good at this I spose. Oh vell. So the last time I blogged, I had just met my lovie lou. Now he's snuggling on the couch next to me (sorry, Chris, but when you're not here, he gets your snuggling space...), chewing on his squirrely's foot. It's truly amazing the pleasure I derive from the simple pleasures and sincere and loving gazes from my pup.

I'm watching "What not to wear" on E!, and I love the part where they take the woman shopping for bras and undies. But I hate the part where they computerize her body measurements... mostly because I fear what I would look like. Poo. My fave part, though, is where they bring in someone as a motivational life coach... it basically makes me tear up every time. I'm trying to let it motivate me. Here's a good nugget to repeat to myself:

"In this life, you can not control how you are perceived. You can only control how you are presented."

I think this is important for me to believe.

2007-05-25T07:04:00.000-07:00

Last night was our first night without our new baby:

He's spending a weekend with his grandparents while mommy and daddy go camping to a music festival for the weekend.

The hellish interviews are over now, so it's just a waiting game. Maybe I'll try mind-bending. Oh wait. Shit. I just googled "mind bending" and realized its purpose is to bend one's own mind, not the minds of others. Doh!

On another note, we gorged ourselves on many marvelous cuts of meat last night at Fogo de Chao. Wow, I never thought I would be so ravenous over so much meat, but it truly is a wonderful place! I think I'm still sweating meat, though, so that's maybe not so wonderful. I think I'll also be dreaming about their tres leches cake for a few years to come... How can you go wrong when you soak something in cream, serve it over cream, with whipped cream on top? Yum.

The hell that is an interview. Or five.

2007-05-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

So I'm supposed to be "preparing".. of course I'm writing a blog instead. What fun is work if you don't procrastinate too? It's like having beer without peanuts! Or a Saturday without a nap!

I'm preparing to prove myself. To five people. What if they don't like me, you ask? Then I fail again, I reply. I know I shouldn't really spend time and energy in the negative, but I have such anxiety that this won't work out either. Haven't I already proven myself to dozens of people, for a year and a half? That's not the way it works, though. You don't just get recognized and moved on.. you still have to prove yourself before you get to pass go and collect $200.

"Tell me about a time ..." those five words drive me crazy! Not because I don't want to tell you about a time.... but because my telling you about a time has to be formatted and structured with all the "right" elements that you want to hear. Otherwise, well, you know the drill ("do not pass go, yada yada yada)

So I'm here. Preparing. I'll try not to give you too many details. I'll try not to ramble on. I'll try to relay to you examples of a time where I took partners, communicated an action plan, created a contingency, implemented a process, developed a team member. To prove to you that I am ready to deliver the financials for your bottom line.

Just so that my bottom line can have an extra $200.

Have a Guinness for my girl Lauren...

2007-03-17T17:09:00.000-07:00

She's trekking in the Himalayas right now, and although I TOLD her she would want her "kiss me I'm irish" t-shirt, I fear she has nothing to wear for St. Patty's day. oh vell. I'm sure she has plenty of other adventures to distract herself.

I started the massive revolution that is spring cleaning today - packed away a boxfull of clothes for the semi-annual clothes swap, and even emptied out TWO DRAWERS for my man when he moves in in May.. That'll be enough, right?!? I'm a little afraid it's not. I'm thinkin it'll take a little more than 2 drawers to help him feel like it's his home too, but he's not a very picky boy so we'll figure something out.

The St. Patricks Day festivities will hopefully begin any minute now. It should be a marvelous night filled with guinness and green as far as the eye can see!