Dana Gribbins, a faith driven woman, wife and mother of five, runs her life between gluten-free oils and lard cupcakes. She uplifts and connects with others through candid tales of every day experiences, homeschooling, and “what on earth?” moments of her family.
If you read my previous posts, you know that this last pregnancy, labor and delivery, and post-partum recovery were hard.
So we made the decision to close out our childbearing season.
Because of timing, he was only able to snag an appointment on a Thursday morning, which happens to be our homeschool community morning.
So I asked a friend of mine if she’d pick up my kiddos and take them so they didn’t miss out and I could take Brent to the appointment.
And here’s how I asked:
“Hey, can you take the girls to homeschool group this coming Thursday? Brent is going to get his man parts chopped off.”
Many laughing emojis and veggie chopping gifs were sent back and forth, complete with ‘no problem’ response to help with transport.
Fast forward to the afternoon of the homeschool community day and my friend was driving them home.
Tempest was inquiring again about why our morning looked different, and in response my oldest said, “I know.”
When they arrive home, my friend shares Sprite’s response with me – but here’s the problem, we didn’t tell her about the procedure.
So I ask her, “how did you find out what a vasectomy is?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, I just want to make sure you understand what it means.”
“I already know.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I read your text messages.”
*slight panic*
“What messages?”
“On your computer.”
(Context – she uses my Mac to write papers and its connected to my phone, so messages come through).
“I’m sorry, say what?”
“I read them.”
“Hold on, the messages that say your daddy was getting his man parts chopped off?”
*snickers* “yeah”
“Do you think that’s what your daddy did today?
*with uncertainty* “yeah”
“Honey!”
*at this point – my friend is standing in my eyesight and clamping her mouth shut trying not to laugh hysterically.*
“Sweetie, you Daddy did not get his man parts chopped off.”
“Oh.” then starts to walk away.
“No, no. It is really important for you to know what he did,.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Um, no, this is really important.”
At this point, she is really uncomfortable, but I also didn’t want her going around thinking I just took her daddy to the chop shop.
So, while my friend is in my periphery trying not to double over laughing, I explain the entire process of a vasectomy complete with all the right words.
Cue absolute embarrassment for her and a ‘this is my life’ moment for me.
Y’all, she was walking around for like a week thinking her daddy was going to be castrated.
UNBELIEVEABLE.
I cannot even with the entire thing.
Be careful with your text messages, your curious readers are dangerous.
I finally arrived in a room where they gave me the awesome hospital gown so I can moon the world, the not-so-comfortable bed that I slept in for 2 days just a couple of weeks prior, and a strict no food diet.
This is going to be fantastic.
A nurse comes in and runs over all of my medical information and hooks me up to all the things.
Then began the next part: the scary part.
She walked me through all the side effects of magnesium, and needless to say, if I wasn’t scared before, I was scared now.
Magnesium can cause your lungs to build up with fluid, therefore requiring a nurse to stay with you constantly for the first hour once you begin the medicine.
Magnesium is also a smooth muscle relaxer, which can help your heart relax a little and bring your BP down; however, it can also cause other muscles to also relax and not work.
For instance, not being able to walk is a possibility – cue bedside toilet and the talk of a bed pan.
So dignity is off the table…awesome.
Magnesium can also feel like you’ve had too much to drink complete with blurred vision and slurred speech.
Magnesium also can cause migraines complete with aversions to bright light.
Oh, magnesium can also cause your esophagus to relax and be unable to swallow.
Because of these side effects, and others I can’t even remember, and the fact I have a newborn needing to stay with me, someone had to be with me at all times while on the magnesium drip.
No thanks.
I’ll take my heart problem to go, please.
I also kept thinking, how will I feed my baby?
Will someone literally hold him to my breast so he can eat?
Will I even be able to hold him once everything kicks in?
Will it completely take me down and I’m unable to completely care for my baby?
Cue next fear cycle.
They hooked me up to the drip and within 10 minutes I felt like I had way too many margaritas.
My vision blurred.
My eyes felt like they were moving slowly around the room and carrying light in slow motion with it.
My speech began to blur and my brain was slow to process information (answering questions, etc).
I was already ready to be done.
Every 15 minutes, the nurse would come and listen intently to my lungs and heart, and check the reflexes of my legs (remember, I could lose the ability to walk while on this drip).
Thankfully I passed the first hour with only blurred vision and slowed speech.
Now the nurse’s rhythm shifts to every hour checking the same thing.
Then the time came that I needed to use the restroom.
*dragging noise*
The bedside toilet appeared right next to my bed.
FABULOUS.
I tried to use that stupid thing, but it was so uncomfortable making me unable to pee, which I needed to do to flush out the magnesium.
I asked if I could just walk to the bathroom since I felt fine(ish).
The nurse was fine with it.
Thank goodness.
Never thought I’d feel so estatic about using a hospital bathroom.
Anyway, that was my rhythm for a while.
Eat jello, hold and feed my baby, and use the bathroom.
I was also thankful that every time the BP cuff went off, my numbers continued to improve.
They originally told me that I would need to be on the mag for 24 hours.
I literally cried.
I did NOT want to be here.
I asked if I responded well to it, if I could stop the medicine at 12 hours.
They couldn’t give me an answer since the doctor was the one who made the call, but I made sure to make my feelings and desires known every chance I had (kindly, of course).
Unfortunately, as the magnesium did its work, my reflexes stopped responding.
They’d take the rubber triangle thingy, hit that tendon underneath the knee cap, and less and less would happen.
Eventually, I needed Brent and the nurse to help me to the restroom.
Walking literally felt like I was lifting bags of rice – complete dead weight.
I would lean on them, pull up my leg and watch as I laid my foot down and repeat with the otherside.
I was determined to use the bathroom.
And honestly, any movement is good for me, especially being practically bedridden during this portion.
I wanted off this medicine like yesterday.
I continued to plead with the nurses to advocate on my behalf to the doctor.
What I wrote above all happened within the first 8 hours.
The highlight of this time, was getting to see my girls.
Brent brought them the following afternoon, and even though I had a migraine, I loved seeing and hearing them (they bring noise wherever they go).
The nurse’s were kind to let my giant family into the room with me.
They could tell my spirits were lifted by their presence.
They brought me ice cream and snuggles, the best medicine.
They left and I was still stuck in the hospital on this horrible medicine, begging and pleading for them to send me home.
I will do whatever you say, I just want to go home.
Because I responded well to the medicine, the doctor allowed them to stop the medicine and monitor me at the 12 hour mark.
As long as my numbers stayed within normal limits, I would be able to go home in 8 HOURS!
8 FLIPPING HOURS!
Apparently, my body needed time to adjust to not having the medicine run through my veins.
God is so kind.
My body adjusted okay, and it was looking like I would be able to go home.
They started discharge paperwork.
And as the time neared for my last BP reading, I had another episode.
SO CLOSE.
I WAS SO CLOSE.
The cuff began to fill with air, squeezing the absolute crap out of my arm, and I just knew.
I knew it was going to be noticeably higher.
And it was: 140/90
NO!
I started crying.
They weren’t going to send me home.
This was too high a number.
I’m holding little man, who is asleep on my chest, bawling that I couldn’t see my family.
My mother in law came over to help with Felix, but I couldn’t let him go.
I needed him.
I needed his warmth, his assurance that I was there.
I needed my baby.
I blubbered out, “No! Don’t take him.”
I needed control over one thing happening to me.
And that was to keep my baby close as I experience disappointment and fear.
The nurse calmly came over and took my BP again, and thankfully it was a few numbers lower.
She said that was acceptable to go home.
I sobbed.
I was so thankful.
I was so ready.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I got my butt up, showing for all the world to see with my flapping hospital gown, and changed to leave.
A sweet friend of mine had already come with a bag packed of clothes and snacks to stay with me.
She had the best job, to bring me back home.
When I finally arrived back home, I was so relaxed.
Sitting in my chair with all of my things, with my girls in their rooms just around the corner (I came back home at bedtime), and Brent close by.
I begged for this.
And it was just what I needed.
I was sent home on BP meds and told to take my BP 3 times a day and report in anything irregular.
It was a best case scenario.
The magnesium worked.
I was only on it for half the time they said I would need.
Even the BP prescription I only needed for 2 weeks before I was able to wean off of it.
Y’all.
God was so good to me.
Even in my fear, He met me.
He cared for me through friends, through family, through the hospital nursing staff.
He reminded me of my mortality.
He reminded me that I need Him in all aspects.
He reminded me how much He works through and in all things for my good.
It may not have felt good to experience it all, but I learned so much about how caring He was to me.
I am here.
He softened me through this whole experience.
I notice I am more tender towards my girls.
I am more gracious to those around me (at least I think so).
I am thankful.
Shout out to Bethany Cooke Photopgraphy for snagging this life-filled image at my husband’s family reunion.
A word and feeling no one wants to experience but was at the forefront of my mind 2 weeks postpartum.
Im sitting on the floor of our bathroom panicking because my body was experiencing something it never had following my previous pregnancies.
Just a few minutes before that moment of absolute panic, I walked over to the baby swing to lay little man down after I nursed him, and as I neared the swing, a huge, explosive gush came out of me.
A snuggle shot just before everything went down.
I literally felt like I delivered my placenta all over again.
I gently put him down and proceeded quickly to the bathroom.
I walked in, sat down, and blood just poured out.
OH MY GOD.
WHAT IS HAPPENING?
I stood up and looked in the toilet and all I saw was red.
Dark red sitting in the bottom.
I kept thinking I was going to bleed out.
And I was terrified.
I called for Brent and Tempest came.
I tried to look calm and gently told her I needed her daddy without raising alarm.
He comes in and sees my distress.
“Am I going to be okay?”
“You’re going to be just fine.”
The last time I had this kind of scare was after I birthed Banshee and I hemorrhaged immediately after.
But this, this was different.
I was at home.
Nothing there would stop what I was experiencing.
I called my doula who pushed me to call the Dr, who by the way, wasn’t very worried because some women can pass a large clot at home.
But this was not normal for me.
Then I began feeling faint.
I sat on the bathroom floor with the hope I wouldn’t fall down to it, but I would already be there if I did completely black out.
But because I just lost a large portion of blood, my doctor said to eat something and monitor the faint feeling.
My doula, who is awesome by the way, came over and sat with me.
She hung with my girls.
Let them braid her hair.
She talked with me.
Prayed over me.
And gave me reassurance.
And as time passed, I felt better – still a little off, but better.
She left and I began preparing to go to bed.
But I’m not going to lie.
So many thoughts filled my thoughts.
Would I wake up?
Would I lay my head on my pillow and never wake?
Would I go to sleep and unknowingly leave my precious family?
Those questions flooded my brain and I was terrified to close my eyes.
I couldn’t shake the feelings, the emotions, and the fear.
It was overwhelming.
When I finally did go to bed, I laid on my pillow and silently prayed that God would allow me to wake.
I went to bed in tears worried I wouldn’t.
Thankfully, God showed me His kindness.
I woke up the next morning feeling significantly better.
I helped the girls get up and out the door for homeschool co-op with Brent.
And my doula already had plans to bring me lunch and check in on me.
She showed around lunchtime bearing the lunch gift of Qdoba.
We sat, ate, and talked.
Unfortunately, shortly after lunch, the episodes of feeling faint and flush returned.
They weren’t in quick succession, but they still happened.
Later that afternoon, after they continued and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, I asked Sprite to grab Brent.
“Something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t feel right.”
We made a few calls, gathered items we’d need, especially since little man was coming with us, and made our way to the hospital.
Shortly after we checked in, we were called back to triage.
At the time, my BP was 140/90.
My BP has never been that high, even during pregnancy, I’m a steady 110/60.
Shortly after that we were called back to a room.
They ran all the tests on me.
EKG, X-Ray, Orthostatics, and bloodwork.
Diagnosis: postpartum pre-eclampsia.
And since I was only two weeks postpartum, I needed overnight care with a magnesium drip in the labor and delivery wing.
I pleaded for another option.
I didn’t want to be there.
I wanted to be home.
I wanted to be with my girls who were terrified that something was wrong with their mommy.
I wanted to reassure them.
Unfortunately, reassurance looked like doctors making me better.
We broke the news to the girls via FaceTime.
“I want you to come home,” Tempest pleaded.
“When will you come home?”
“How long do you have to be there?”
Crocodile tears fell down their faces and I couldn’t wipe them away or reassure them.
Why?
Why does everything have to be so hard sometimes?
Labor and delivery, breastfeeding, recovery…can one thing just be easy?
If you’ve read the experience of my last birth, that of Torpedo, you know it was an accidental home birth.
However, the birth of our last, a BOY, was a complete opposite situation.
Due to my age, extra fluid (noticeably more), and the fact that my body was not progressing as it had with the other pregnancies, an induction was on deck to help welcome little dude.
Side note: no pseudnoym for little bro yet; still deciding.
This was not my ideal or desire by any means.
I prefer to be left alone and wait for spontaneous labor, but my doctor had other plans and I struggled to agree and concede to the suggestion.
I did, though, not willingly, but I did.
And let me tell you, getting a bed for an induction is the most frustrating thing on the planet.
The doctor tells you an induction is necessary, then you’re pushed around for hours over the possibility of an open bed.
I called at 5, there was no bed; call back at 7.
Called back at 7; yes, there is a bed.
They called me at 8: no bed.
They called me again at 9: yes bed.
Called me back at 10, no bed.
I was done.
I was emotionally drained from the back and forth and the giving in to a birth direction I really didn’t want.
So I went to bed; I needed sleep.
Sayonara.
2:35 am – *ring ring ring* A bed is available.
“Can you come in.”
“Well, I don’t like it, but I will.”
We made arrangements for the girls and proceeded to the hospital and the entire drive I am just hating what my body is about to go through – even though I have never been induced prior to this point- so I literally have no idea, just hear stories from others.
And not great ones at that.
I get in, exhausted, emotional, and overwhelmed.
They ran me through the 8,000 questions and began prepping me for pitocin.
On a positive note: my body had progressed even from the day before (my 40 week appointment), which did mean less medicine.
I was really anxious.
I thankfully had relatively uneventful birth experiences before (aside from quick births), no interventions, etc.
So this was throwing me for a loop.
I wanted my doula and friend, Tina.
She knows my wishes.
She knows how to push me and knows when I’m at a breaking point.
And with her and my husband there, I knew I could get through it.
They started the drip about 7am and my doula encouraged me to rest until I couldn’t.
I’m exhausted, puffy, but took this picture for my girls. They were worried.And just for fun, because I know the first picture wasn’t convincing.
From about 7-9:30, I had contractions, but nothing significant.
Just uterine tightening that I had experienced for weeks already.
Once I was up and moving, my water broke.
Great.
Hear that with sarcasm.
Mine have never broken until a baby is ready to appear, so to have it break so early was not my desire.
It makes the pain of contractions much harder since the cushion is gone.
We all three began walking the halls of the hospital.
Because I desired to go natural even with the drip, they made everything portable so I could move and do what I needed.
We would walk and talk and I would inform when I had a contraction and my doula took notes and watched the timing.
About an hour of walking the halls, I needed to lean against the wall and rock my hips side to side to alleviate the discomfort.
My contractions were now 2 minutes apart and becoming more uncomfortable and moving lower.
I needed the exercise ball and for someone to press down with decent force onto my shoulders.
The counter pressure it provides helps offset the pain.
I did this and curb walking (portable stairs in the room) for about an hour, then the contractions really started rolling.
Not only were the contractions tougher, but they were piggybacking off one another.
Three of them to be exact.
HOLY CRAP.
There was no break.
This was about 11:15am and I began contemplating an epidural.
I really didn’t want one.
I delivered my last three without it, and I desired the same here.
But the difference here: I was exhausted on so many fronts.
I just wanted to hold my baby.
I was just shy of begging for an epidural, but my doula kept saying, just give me a few more contractions.
To some this may seem harsh, but she knew what I wanted and knew the head game that would follow if I didn’t.
Her and Brent were so encouraging – I cannot say that enough.
I just needed something to take the edge off.
The pitocin really does have an effect on pain.
So my doula suggested nitrous.
Genius, let’s do it.
Y’all, watching these nurses bring in the gas and try to open it was something from a sitcom.
They couldn’t get it opened, and when they did, it began hissing loudly.
My doula chuckled and said, “I guess we’re all gonna get some nitrous! It’s gonna be a party!”
But here’s the deal, you may as well call that stuff placebo gas.
I don’t think it did a thing.
Nonetheless, I gave it a shot.
Around 11:30 in between contractions, they checked me.
I was ready.
Next thing I know, the room fills with a crap ton of people.
The bed changes.
The spotlights are on and bright.
Nurses are putting on gloves, gowns, and glasses.
I can’t remember the exact time I began this part of labor, but it wasn’t too long.
I had to push him down into stations, which isn’t something I normally have to do. The middle three I just had to keep from falling out.
My body was tired and I struggled getting a good position to assist in the process.
Then they brought up the handles.
Game changer.
A few pushes and he was out.
I had my eyes closed, so I didn’t even know right away.
My doctor said, “he’s here!”
I did it.
And even writing this, I’m teary-eyed.
Holding him was pure bliss and exactly what I waited for, and worth it all.
He was perfect.
I would have chosen and different route for labor and delivery if I had the choice, but God really showed up in the midst of it all.
The girls were really stressed about the back and forth of me going to the hospital for the induction. The fact that a bed only became available late into the morning meant I could keep their routine the same for bedtime. The routine gave everyone ease.
I had more fluid than I realized. I was literally gushing while pushing him out.
Upon his arrival, he had the cord wrapped around his neck. Thankfully, it wasn’t knotted, or cinched, just a nuchal. They easily and quickly unwrapped it – so much so, I didn’t even know that happened until after he was in my arms.
I was able to deliver healthy baby boy without an epidural even with pitocin running through my body.
Baby brother is a really sweet addition to our family.
My body, mind, and emotions went through a roller coaster to meet him, but it was worth it.
Grief surprised me this past Sunday – Mother’s Day.
Me with our youngest, Torpedo, after a busy Mother’s Day morning.
I really didn’t expect it.
I had given thought a few days before that this would be the first Mother’s Day after our miscarriage this past fall.
I took note.
Recognized feelings and thoughts were a possibility, but that was all the credence I gave it.
But, grief is like a ninja.
Hiding then attacking with a surprise gut punch when you least expect it or think you have things under control.
And I was no exception.
We had our morning huddle before Church began with our staff and serving team and our Pastor spoke a quick synopsis of the sermon: suffering.
But suffering presented with hope.
I thought to myself, ‘I’m not suffering’
Just saying those words to myself was all it took.
Denial mixed with the reality that I was, in fact, suffering.
My eyes started to fill and I stood there surprised and unable to completely take hold of my emotions.
I was in this weird space of grieving our loss, grieving I should be holding a little one already, but also feeling blessed that I was granted a little one to carry again.
Trying to equally hold the tension of grief and blessing.
If I sit in grief, am I being ungrateful for the blessing of another?
If I sit in blessing, am I denying the grief of our loss?
It’s a raw feeling holding those two simultaneously.
We have a nightly routine in our home, sort of a divide, conquer, and invest in our kiddos situation.
This usually includes Brent or I reading a separate Bible story to the two youngest, Banshee and Torpedo, and follow it up with a cake decorating video – our new thing we enjoy watching right before bed.
Sometimes though, it doesn’t look pretty or feel like God is there, if that makes sense.
This is because sometimes Banshee might prefer not sitting next to me on the bed because I didn’t give her the answer she wanted about something unrelated.
It might also be because my toddler, Torpedo, doesn’t have the ability to remain still while I’m reading about Zacchaeus or Esther, and instead begins tumbling around the bed or crawling onto my head like a spider monkey.
Much like the photo below.
The cutest spider monkey around.
But here’s the beauty: they hear every word.
They hear God’s extension of love and pursuit to Zacchaeus.
They hear the protection and courage given to Esther as she approached the King and revealed the secret plan to annihilate her people.
They hear.
They may practice their sommersaults.
They may crawl up the walls.
They may be mad and turn their back to you as you take the opportunity to pour gospel truth out to them.
But it’s worth it.
It’s worth the battle.
It’s worth the frustration.
It’s worth every frustrating step, side eye, and turned back.
Because not only do they hear the gospel message, but they also experience the importance of your presence and pursuit of their little souls that God Himself is pursuing even more than you.
I encourage you, just as God pursues you, keep pursuing the hearts of your children.
Do you ever have those moments in parenting where you observe or correct your child’s behavior and its so extreme (the behavior not the discipline) that you question if maybe they aren’t the issue, but instead it’s you?
This was me a couple of days ago.
We’re cramming through math for Sprite, readying her for a placement test for her new education venture in the fall, and satan stirs the pot.
Guttural, hateful screaming from Tempest (befitting, isn’t it) toward her sister, Banshee.
Unbelievable.
I step away from the fractions and head toward the commotion.
I’m met with the same level of screaming and hateful demeanor that was shared with her sister, and slathered with a few ‘I don’t cares’ thrown in there as well as I redirected.
Let’s not forget the facial expression that could turn even Medusa herself to stone.
I just stood there for a minute; incredulous.
WHAT IS HAPPENING?
WHO IS THIS KID?
Unfortunately, this was just the beginning of a constant 2-hour streak full of bitter, hateful words meant to cut everyone and everything down that was in her path of destruction.
After one encounter, she screamed at me while she stomped to her room, flinging the hallway gate closed and raging until she was in her bed.
At this point, she had been raging for over an hour.
I was emotionally exhausted.
I stood up from the table, grabbed my Parenting with Scripture book and opened it to topic of respect.
Above all, she has shown no respect to me (or her sisters) at all.
I wrote down ‘I will show respect to mommy with my words and actions’ and readied it for her to copy 5 times as part of a consequence.
Then I paused (best advice I’ve received as an enneagram 8 to help alter a possible, regrettable decision).
I took a deep breath, pushed away from the table where I was noticing my lack of love for fractions, and walked into the lion’s den.
“Go to the table.”
*screaming* YOU SAID I COULD GO TO MY ROOM WHEN I NEEDED TO TO CALM DOWN!
“You’re right. I did, but today it hasn’t helped. Get to the table.”
*stomping and muttering*
“Sit down and copy the sentence 5 times.”
She looks at the page, immediately complains and exclaims that she in fact will not copy the sentence and proceeds to push it violently across the table.
“You will remain at this table until the sentence is copied 5 times, then we will talk about it.”
*verbal attacking, victim speak, and all the feelings*
“Sweetie, you are allowed to feel angry. You know I have no problem with that, but the choices made when you’re angry have consequences.”
*continued verbal attacking*
I turned away, took a deep break, then Sprite asked me, “mommy, are you okay?”
*tears fill my eyes* “no, I’m not.”
Tempest started crying, “mommy, I’m sorry.”
She gets up from her chair and hugs me, but I wasn’t ready.
I know that might make me a horrible human being, but neither did I want to give her a trite hug.
So I said, “I accept your apology and I will give you a hug in a few minutes. I need a couple of minutes; I’m really mad right now.”
Those words were really difficult to say.
I wanted to give her a hug right away, but I was so worn and angry about everything that happened that morning, I needed space to make sure my hug was warm and not out of obligation.
I took a couple of minutes, breathed in and out, then pushed back from the table, and invited her over for a hug.
She melted.
She cried.
I cried.
This hug wasn’t a silver bullet.
We still had to work through the differences of feeling guilty and feeling repentant.
But it helped her know that her words hurt (even though I didn’t want her to see it), and that I will still hug her after she’s spent time and time again blasting me for any and everything.
Y’all.
Maybe it is me.
And maybe it’s learning to parent an entirely different soul than her sister.
And maybe it’s both.
Whew.
Parenting is hard.
Parenting is exhausting.
And parenting is redemptive – for her and myself – and for that, I am grateful.
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