The Little Plateaus

The little plateaus of life

There are times when life reaches a plateau. I remember one such time. Grown up, married, education complete, two kids, one of each gender, house, dog, cars, friends, less angst and somewhat structured rhythms to life. I had taken time off from work, was teaching as an adjunct professor and did the gamut of family- oriented soccer mom activities. I was room mother, cub scout leader, girl scout leader, assistant track coach, drove to tball, basketball, football, lacrosse and yes, soccer, to swimming lessons, ballet, flute, piano, voice. I cooked and cleaned and erranded. I hosted parties, had family stay for extended visits, travelled, vacationed, read books, watched movies, lived a busy family-centered existence.

The kids were potty trained, the dog too, not so sure about the hubby, and I realized I was not necessarily indispensable. College time for the kids would be coming up and I thought perhaps I should look for a full-time job, work on my career as an educator or even dabble with nonprofit or corporate. I was flexible. Maybe I could write or act in plays or work on radio or tv. I was beefing up my resume and quietly looking for options.

After my older son was in kindergarten and my daughter out of diapers, I really wanted another baby. They were fun. But I did not get pregnant, just had really heavy periods. The gynaecologist  told me I had ovarian cysts and it looked as if the periods were spontaneous miscarriages, She was kind, and said, you have a healthy boy and a healthy girl. Your body is saying no, Further pregnancies with your gynee problems could result in difficulties and even abnormalities. I made the decision to not try for more babies and life moved on.

Kids were fifteen and eleven. The household had flu. I went to the doctor and said I think I have the flu too. Lots of nausea, just no fever, but I really feel sick. He said I should have a urine test, I laughed. You told me years ago that I was done, and I think this is not necessary. Just standard operating procedure. He called me back in the office. You do not have flu, you are expecting a baby. I was a little confused, but very happy. He gave me literature on high-risk pregnancy and folic acid tablets.  I told my husband and he was happy and concerned. Need to lie down? My son saw this and since Mom rarely sat down, much less lay down, his adolescent brain went to his friend’s mom who had just died from breast cancer, I saw the fear in his eyes and I held his face in my hands and said, “I am not ill. I do not have cancer, I am pregnant.” He looked relieved and then got the “ugh” look for a moment.

I had several friends with kids the same ages as mine. We had all had conversations about how glad we were with our situations, no more diapers and snotty toddlers, completed families and so forth. So glad to never have to go to Chuck-e-cheese again. Anne came over and said, “Honey, if you need to go to the clinic, I can take you.” I was confused. Clinic? I have good insurance. Oh, that clinic, the one where I could take care/remove the new entry to my life. “Thank you, Anne, but now I am pregnant, I just stay that way. I always go with the flow.”

The doctor worried about me. You need to get amniocentesis done. You are high risk. I said no, no, no. He was persistent. If there are any defects, we can work on them in vitro. There is a three day window for optimal amniocentesis procedure, so I reluctantly pulled up to the hospital, even though so much of my body and spirit were screaming no. I was on a cold gurney with machines and the technician said, You have to come back tomorrow. The baby has moved and we cannot perform the procedure when the child is in this position. See you tomorrow. I was light hearted with happiness. The child spoke. The universe spoke. No amniocentesis. I would take my chances.

In the seventh month, I had a little spotting so I drove to the clinic with my daughter to tell the doctor. Next thing you know, I was in loaded in an ambulance by two strong, very big, gentle emts and was sirening to University Hospital. They stabilized me and I said, I feel fine, can I go home now? The doctor said I would be on complete bedrest until the baby was delivered, no walking at all. I was losing amniotic fluid and that night I was rushed in for my third caesarean section.

The anesthesiologist was Nigerian. They put a curtain about my midsection and I could hear the doctors and nurses talking softly and I could feel some pulls on my body, but there was no pain. Suddenly the anesthesiologist started talking me more animatedly. What a lovely necklace you have. I have friends who have similar necklaces. Is that like a wedding ring? This rush of conversation was a little odd, but I realized that the murmuring of the doctors and nurses had ceased. There was silence beyond the curtain. My heart sank. No one had said anything but I knew. The baby was not breathing. I clutched my husbands hand and silently I called out with all my will. Breathe, baby, breathe. Please oh god make the baby breathe. A mewling sound broke that silence and I could breathe too.

My oldest son was ten pounds at birth, my daughter was six and a half pounds. This baby weighed 3 and a half pounds. My older son could hold the baby in the palm of one hand. He was in the Neonatal Intensive care unit for six weeks. I was not supposed to drive so I was taken there twice a day to feed and hold him. I feel a huge gratitude to the grandmotherly ladies who volunteered to hold the preemie infants and rock them when the mothers could not be there. At five pounds we brought him home.

The plateau was over. The place where I stopped to take a breath and make some changes was gone. The universe made those changes. I went back to mom mode. I started over with night feeds, diapers, potty training and snotty kids, I continued to focus on the fullness of family life, adjunct teach and later started a home business. I was back at chuck-e-cheese. No regrets. There is always change, there are always new beginnings.