Not yet goodbye

This could have been a farewell posting, an end to it all and a goodbye. But I have decided, once again, to forge on. I have even less time than ever now, with the end of summer gardening and the birthday party and all, but I still make the time I need to blog in the dark hours of the night. The reason I almost called an end to my on line experiences is because of some negative feedback. It was tough to hear. I actually cried. However, I am going to use that feedback as a means to improve, not to quit.

I have heard that I am too hard on people in these entries and that I am just too mean. I certainly don’t think so; I think I am just getting what I need to say out there, however I can. Over and over, I tell those around me what I feel and need and want and my hopes and dreams, and over and over I get the distinct impression no one is listening. Once I was telling someone I know (and I know a lot of someones all over the world) about a banana bread recipe and he said – “Yes, well, I’m a vegetarian, myself.” What? Talk about a non-sequitor. He just wasn’t listening at all. I am no different from anyone else; I like to be heard. I, too, can be guilty of just waiting for my turn to yip yap out what I want to say, but I have taught myself how to listen too. Recently someone told me something that I really took to heart. I would go into details, but I promised I wouldn’t.


I am part of a group of moms, who all have twins of various ages, and even they cannot fully understand my experiences for one major reason; they are not I. There is no other twin mama I have met who I have clicked with, like a Doppelganger. I sometimes I read one of those magazines - Daddyhood, or Now-That-you’re-a-Parent-we-can-tell-You-how-to-Live, or some such publication, just for entertainment. I cannot take 90% any of it seriously. In one such rag I read of a mother resisting a playgroup – why should she try to get along with these strangers, just because they all had children? The thrust of the story was parenthood is not really a point in common. Quite right too. After all, every dog can reproduce. Does that mean I am just like any other bitch on the street? (No, don’t answer that…)

I went to a group style midwife practice when I was pregnant. I wanted to use a midwife to have a cave woman type birth experience, and use a doula, and I met a midwife who kind of liked. She seemed a bit dippy, but sweet. (In retrospect just that description alone is enough to make me break out in bloody hives, now knowing what I know about childbirth, and my difficult experience, but we each must learn or lessons our own way.)

Anyway, I found myself part of a group that included two unwed teenagers, aged 17 and 19; a 6 foot tall Black woman and a clinically depressed person, who was going through a divorce, and stated flatly she didn’t want to have this fourth baby, but her anti-depressants interfered with her birth control pills. I had the most in common with the sister; we were both married and had both become pregnant intentionally. The two teenagers would ask the most idiotic questions, such as – “ If I’m in a car with some one who is smoking and we roll down all the windows, that’s not called second hand smoke, is it?” And questions like – “You gain weight when you breastfeed, right?” And - “I didn’t think I was supposed to stretch when I was pregnant, it could hurt the baby. You mean I should do yoga?” And they made comments along the lines of - “My boyfriend is really excited about the baby. He loves babies; he has two already, but this is our first together.”

I asked the midwives if I could have individual appointments; I was more interested in talking about my own health, and my own dietary concerns and about breastfeeding, not as an option, but how I needed to prepare, but they were really adamant about “Group”, as they called it. (That should have been another clue for me – I hate hate hate it when native English speakers leave off the article! It’s “I’ll see you at THE group on Tuesday,” not “See you in group on Tuesday!” That makes one sound like someone who failed an ESL class.) But, pregnancy hormones being what they are, I let them talk me into staying. Then I found out I was going to have twins. I really should have gone to an OB at that point. I am so mule headed sometimes, I still wanted to have the crunchy granola experience, and kept hoping the (see, see THE) group would get better. After all, the numbers were dropping; one of the teenagers moved to Florida to be with her divorced mother’s last boyfriend’s sister’s cousin, and the depressed one heard something bad about Yale and wanted to go to a practice that used a different hospital. Therefore it was only the seventeen year old, the sister and I. So, I stayed, against my better judgment.

Then the blood pressure and the weight started going up up up and the ankles began to really disappear. One of the midwives actually gave me a lecture on eating too much, and to watch how much peanut butter I consumed. I told her I had subsisted on nothing but popsicles and milk for about a week at that point. I was over 37 weeks along, but again – people just don’t listen… Obviously (in hindsight) there was something wrong. But, pregnancy hormones being what they are, I did not listen to my body’s screams for help.

This group – called Centering – was really for the healthiest specimens, not for me. The drill was: go in, get your own chart, take your own blood pressure and weight and then sit and wait for the MW with the fetoscope to listen to your tummy. Therefore, the medical caretaker isn’t really focusing on your weight or blood pressure, because you did it yourself. Oh, she glanced at the chart, but the MW I usually saw seemed more interested in chatting with me than the actual visit. I was lonely, and flattered she thought I was interesting, and I didn’t really clue in that it was bad not to get my urine tested for protein, except once. So by August I had pre-eclampsia, and no one knew it. I’m lucky I didn’t have a seizure and die in my own house. That would have been a nasty shock for my DH – come home from work and there is the wife, 38 weeks along, 240 pounds, dead as road kill, and probably a bit stinky too. It was a hot August, and no one ever came to visit me, to make sure I was okay. I’m damn glad I drove myself to the hospital that day I had my boys. If you, gentle reader, have a pregnant friend, be sure to call her daily and/or visit, especially if she had twins. You just might be a hero.

The mother’s group I joined, the one with all the twin mothers, is kind of the same to me. Yes, we all have twins, but we really do all the work on our own. You need to speak up and speak out if you have a need or a want, and you take your own blood pressure. I joined hoping to make friends, and meet mothers who could advise me on trade secrets. I also wanted a forum in which to vent my anxiety, and explore my options and wanted to meet women with whom to share my mothering journey. I have to say; I don’t really feel a part of the group. Am I going to quit? Nope - I am capable of learning a lesson, and know the change needs to come from ME. That’s why I joined the Board of Directors. Now I have a compelling reason to keep going. I have faith that Group will get better for me. (If I drop the article, and call it Group, can I play too?)