Theo Progress Report 02/12/12

January 2nd 2012

The day Baby Aaron was born and what was to be the end of our "adventure" as I've been calling it. As so many things in life, this end is not quite as finite as ends are defined to be. The post period, we're realizing, is just a continuation of the adventure. And maybe this adventure doesn't ever really come to an end. Maybe it's meant to continue indefinitely as does life, with ups, downs, turns and twists. Maybe it extends itself throughout our lives and Baby Aarons' and his new parents' lives. Like the passing of the baton. It's in their hands now as we recover from the first leg. But we shall stand hand in hand together in victory on the podium of life. We said from the beginning that we'd play it as it comes in regards to a future relationship with J&R and Baby Aaron. That playing as it comes has already cemented a bond and friendship long before this day. That future is now here and our future from here is assuredly intertwined.


So yes, Baby Aaron arrived in this world at a healthy 8lbs 9oz and 20"L at 2am four days after his original due day. He took his time growing and making sure he was to be a 2012 baby. We all expected him to be early, prolonging the anxiousness of awaiting his arrival.    Orit was so beyond ready to get him out (and I mean that in a more sensitive give birth way) that we resorted to all the old wives tales about inducing. The first piece of advice EVERYONE seems to want to offer is "they say if you have sex..." That comes out of the mouths of a large cross-section of people, including all the ones you don't want to hear it from. Yes, yes, I know, I know. And we did. And did... But he didn't arrive (notice here how I didn't use the alternative verb). Finally after speaking to a doula who recommended a particular recipe that would guarantee baby results, we set out to give it a shot at 9:30pm on January 1st. After a quick trip to the drug store, 2 tablespoons of Castor Oil were blended into a milkshake and consumed. Not me. Followed with a hot shower and topped off with 15 minutes of stimulating/massaging one breast at a time and alternating for an hour. Again here, not me. There was nothing romantic about this recipe. We joked along the way about the awkwardness of it all. Hoping skeptically it would do something. Boy, did it. Shortly before midnight the labor contractions came on strong. No need for a stopwatch or timing anything. It was obviously time to get the plan in motion. Calls to J&R, hospital, midwife, doula and Aimee, Orit's Assistant. By 12:20am, Aimee was at the house ready to stay the night and/or how ever long it takes with Little Man. By 12:30 we were on the way, driving fast on the wide open freeway.


The first scene from a movie we encounter was pulling into the valet underground parking lot of the hospital. We get out, I give one of the two guys the keys as I explain that my wife is in labor. They look at me absolutely freaked out and tell me to get myself and my in-labor wife back in the car and drive around to Emergency. As if I'm asking them to delivery the baby. Along comes a helpful employee who grabs a wheel chair from the entrance and tells us it would be faster this way. Come. Thanks lady! I get my valet ticket as I say to the guys "it's not an emergency, it's a labor." And we roll on up to Labor and Delivery. We'd been to this exact department during an orientation at this hospital and still the place seemed like a maze.


We get into the delivery room and the show wastes no time in beginning. Right away a contraction and undressing and gown and bed. Orit does not let them get her laying down on her back as they'd like her but rather opts for the all fours position. I explained that this was her birthing position with Little Man. This is her birth, she chooses the position. We raise the front of the bed to give her something to lean on and prop it up with some pillows. They try to strap her to a fetal monitor and she swats the nurses hands away several times until it's understood that she's not having it. Who'd want a big synthetic Velcro strap all around your bare stomach as you're pushing a baby out? Sounds uncomfortable, but it's hospital norm. So instead, one of the many nurses walking in and out of the room ended up holding the monitor every so often to hear the heartbeat. A small victory - no strap. A nurse mispronounced Orit's name while trying to comfort her, and she turned around and corrected her - "it's O R I T. Like do you want to go to a movie or eat?" and went right back into a contraction. Movie moment #2. And on we went. She came in fully dilated and ready to start pushing. But the water hadn't broken yet. To speed it along and let her start pushing they gave it a poke. And she started pushing. Everything gets a little foggy here so forgive me if I'm not exact, but my guess is about 7 or 8 good pushes. The midwife, resident, doula and I all doing our part in encouraging as Orit seemed to know exactly what to do. And she did her thing. And did it right. And did it loud. And finally pushed the plump little guy out and it was amazing. And his mom and dad and all of us were there to share the moment. And he was beautiful. And J&R were in shock and awe. And J cut the cord. And we were relieved. And Happy. And Orit nursed him and he took to the nipple like a champ and then he was handed to his mom. And it was to be that. Then the placenta came out. After that, the shit hit the fan.


I'm not going to relive the rest of what happened in great detail. The serious bottom line was she was hemorrhaging and they didn't understand from where and why. At this point the midwife took a second seat to the medical team and what started as a natural birth turned into a most unnatural after birth. It came in three stages. Stage 1. Where it was just discovered and it was being dealt with manually, invasively and painfully to the point of unbearable. Feeling around deep within, trying to find something to feel. The drugs began. Prodding and poking. But they did not help. And she did not deserve this and they had to stop and move on to an OR where an anesthesiologist can make the pain go away.


Stage 2. The 45 minute wait where they wouldn't let me go in and be with her. A miserable wait and recognizable as another movie moment. Seen so many of these scenes, with varying actors and results. Inside, Orit was under general anesthesia. Her uterus had not clamped back up and shut the exposed blood vessels. A few placenta membranes remained behind not allowing nature to take its course. So they scraped out the remains and cleaned up and inserted a ballon to keep pressure on the wound. And though she had to have 2 units of blood transfused, at least it wasn't an operation. No cutting. No stitching. A small relief in an otherwise bad moment. At least she's asleep and there's no more pain. Yet.


Stage 3. Recovery. The slowest and most difficult stage beginning with coming to consciousness and to terms with what happened and it's consequences. For about a day and a half she was unrecognizable. Swollen. She had so much fluid pumped into her it had settled throughout. She was hooked up to so many tubes and was receiving another 2 units of blood. It was rough. She made the mistake of looking at herself by taking an iphone self portrait. Little Man came in to see his mama. And he was so caring and concerned and nurturing. I took him to meet Aaron and hang out with J&R in the room next door.  He's been waiting to meet him for a long time. There will be more to write about those two I'm sure. By day 2 we were  having moments of making fun of the swelling, calling her a Jewish Asian Margaret Cho. Her cheeks and forehead bounced the few moments she chuckled. And despite the uncomfortable and difficult situation every half day got better and better. The balloon was partially deflated and soon thereafter came out. The bleeding had stopped. All the vitals and blood numbers where normal. No more poking and prodding. The medications, blood transfusions and fluids ceased. She was no longer on bed rest and hooked up to anything. She could walk and go to the bathroom. That was big. Immediately she was better and back to looking like herself.


On day 3 they said go. Home with the boys is a more peaceful prospect. And in coming home she was looking forward to showering and brushing her hair and being in her own bed. And having a good long cry. Cause it was scary. 

We're home now and it's past.


There is active work in any healing. And if you know Orit, you know she's gonna be an active participant in her healing and spearheading the path. Now nature is back on course and her body is producing milk. We had earlier decided Orit would pump breast milk for them for one month. During recovery we reassessed that her body had gone through quite enough unexpected trauma and it would be best if she doesn't. There is a back-up alternative source of milk so it only made sense. Let her heal and not have the burden to provide any more. And that was consensus among all parties. The milk is coming in nonetheless and the breasts get engorged. It's painful. So old wives tales come back and currently we are working with cabbage. Covering them in cabbage under a tight bra. Little Man particularly likes this idea. Thinks its funny. And funny enough its working. And what the hell, there's nothing to lose but pain. And so every new day is better than the one before. And that's a good direction to go in life.


What happens now? Orit gets better and back to normal within two weeks. And we shall discover our roles in the life of Baby Aaron as well as move on to whatever adventures lay ahead. So don't dwell on what was out of our hands and move forward. You'll be hearing from us...

Theo Progress Report 12/18/11

38 Weeks

The Home Stretch

Speaking of stretch, I have witnessed Orit's belly get to its current and probable peak size. Baby Aaron (and as you know from following along the journey - last name not Harpaz) is contemplating his readiness to come out and greet the world. At any given moment it can happen. The due date is two and half weeks away. So I suppose we can safely call this the home stretch. Naturally, the anticipation of it all coming to a climax is a source of high alert. But it's being done with calm energy and focused ideas of what's to come. Stay tuned for what's to be with an update...

As far as the quiet period of the pregnancy, I can bring you up to speed. The second stage. When it's absolutely obvious that a woman is pregnant. Not the awkward stage where it's not clear and no one is “gonna go there”. Some women flourish through this period. With others, it's the unfortunate downward spiral of letting herself go. My beautiful wife is definitely of the first variety. Flourishing indeed. Everything about the ideal within the idea of a beautiful pregnant woman is present in her. From beginning through to this pending end, she has carried herself and carried this baby with a giving heart and body. Nourished him from inception. And done so with grace and beauty. Now she is absolutely ready to give him the right of passage to life. Meaning, she’s ready to give birth to baby Aaron. And the most asked question is "isn't it gonna be difficult, emotionally to give up the baby?" The answer is quite frankly, no. A little shocking for the person asking, as they don't expect it that way. And the reasons are simple and many. We/she have been indirectly in this world of surrogacy for years prior to living it. This particular personal experience has been in the coming for 2 years. There is no genetic connection to us. We/she went into a pregnancy with the sole purpose of giving birth for someone else. Their child. Not ours. We’re the ride into the world, beyond that it out of our hands. The one sole purpose. Not be parents again. Becoming parents, is a lifetime of purpose. We already have that with Little Man. And the closer the birth gets and we see strollers, diaper bags, Baby Bjorn’s and lack of sleep, the more grateful we are that we don’t have to live that this time around. If anything, this process is one step closer to solidifying the conviction of not having another child of our own at this moment. Maybe never. Who knows what will actually happen in the future. The world is full of surprises. Just not in this particular case. None here. Everything was and is spelled out ahead of time. And therefore, the most natural thing for us to do is to be eager to do this last and final act of handing Aaron off into the arms of our ever more anticipating friends, J & R, his parents. And us, we’ll look back knowing we made a small mark and a strong bond and move on to the next stages of our life. So no, it's not gonna be hard emotionally. On the contrary. It would be difficult emotionally if we had to take care of a baby beyond the birth. I think the explanation educates the inquirers. And I think, in most cases they get it. And those that do are touched.

Which brings me to some of the looks, confusion and responses we encounter. People are vocal about the obvious visual picture of a belly. They’re quick to want to converse about the belly. Mix it with their natural assumption of happiness for our having another baby. Mazal Tov! And they are quicker to be taken aback by the unexpected response they get. Especially when Little Man is around. He tends to like to take the lead - "no, it's not my brother" pause. "He's my surrogate brother and his name is Aaron ***** **********." pause. The reactions and facial expressions we face in that moment - PRICELESS. Sometimes it's a slow coming to understanding. Other’s quick. Always with shock as the realization sets in. Always with interest and further questioning, regardless of their politics or beliefs. The mental picture of their miffed looks is always a source of laughter in recounting the stories and becomes a part of the story as a whole.

Joking aside, the pregnancy has progressed as it should and as expected. On-schedule. With healthy numbers. Monthly meetings with the midwives are now weekly. The care is thorough and professional. One or both, J & R are present and as much a part of these and everything else in an attentive, sensitive and generous way. A Doula has been found and those wheels are in motion. Little Man wants to be a part of it (obviously not the raw full experience at the end) and definitely meet Aaron. So we’ve enlisted a few hands and backup plans. As goes with my work, which has to be covered in case I must run. And I’ve been crazy busy for a long stretch now. Three more days and I’m done. Until the next time (and you never know when that will be so you take it all). Discussions on logistics have taken place. Decisions have been made. Lists are being made. Standby...

Crystals

A bit of a writer’s slump accompanied me throughout this blog drought. Not that there's not much to write about. It's just that it's been more of a physical slump that had an affect on the mental. I’ve been plagued with a series of "issues" that have abruptly forced me to take heed of my health and introduced me to my "midlife" period. Not the so-called “crisis” leading to an extravagant new sports car. I could only wish - right now I'm dreaming of the Dodge Challenger. But, sort of a wake up call introduction to my newly arrived 40's.

My knee surgery took place the end of May. I had anticipated and feared it for so long. And like all hindsight lessons, there was something to be learned. It was simpler and quicker than expected. I woke up the morning of and went in to the surgery center at 6:45am, less than 2 miles from home, with my chin up but clenched fists of nerves. The nurse took my blood pressure prior to inserting the IV and took a step back - the numbers spoke of my nerves from the pending needle (and procedure). We decided to take a moment to breathe deep and have me take a little somethin’ somethin’ to calm me down. A few minutes later it was done. The IV was in and I was still conscious. Little did I know then that was to be the first step in my overcoming syncope and my fear of needles, as would it would be one of many to come. Through the IV, the first step of the anesthesia had begun. I remember being wheeled into the surgery room, the eyes of my orthopedic surgeon recognizable behind the mask and next to him the anesthesiologist introduced himself. Then fade to black.

I woke up an hour later (surgery was 45mins) and that was that. All done. I was sent home bandaged, with crutches, though able to walk on my own. My recovery at home began. Lots of ice and two days of not removing the bandages. I didn't experience pain, only swelling and tightness. Manageable enough to be able to physically work so long as it didn't require bending the knee. Work was quiet as I consciously decided to not take on any projects for a window of time. And so I immersed myself into an intense and prolific period week of woodworking and building in my man cave garage. I built a TV cabinet and a little side table. I modified and refinished another old side table and an outdoor bench. I couldn't sit still. And didn't feel the need to do so as long as I did things slowly, with care and tending to the wound. The following week, I went in to have the stitches removed, only to find out there were no stitches under the two band-aids hiding two little scabbing puncture holes on each side below the kneecap. It looked like an alien face with the kneecap being the large forehead and the two holes red eyes.  I mean shit, not even stitches! And I had all this anxiety going into it. Anyway, swelling aside I was happy to be where I was. Until, that is, I heard about the crystals.

During surgery, the issue I was having with my knee (as well as my feet during unexplained excruciating week long pain flare ups) became apparent that it was not only as a result of and/or overcompensation from the torn meniscus that was being corrected. There were very clear deposits of crystals built up around the joint. These crystals form as a result of the body either overproducing uric acid or not flushing enough of it out. Either way the level of uric acid is higher than it should be. My new unfortunate condition is called Gout. Most of you have heard of it, but don’t know what it is or associate it with older, fatter unhealthy people. Of course upon hearing this, my mind quickly went to a dark place. What is it? Why is it? Why me? What does it mean for my future? I'm not an overweight, medieval king gorging on a huge turkey leg dripping fat down through my beard. I'm an active, healthy young man of 39 (that recently changed to 40). My weight to height ratio is right on. So why? Who knows? It's not caused from diet or lifestyle. And regardless of the fact that I don't know of any blood relatives that have Gout, it tends to be a hereditary thing. And bottom line, it's no longer about why, but rather what now?

The Internet is both a blessing and a curse in times like these. The initial search for knowledge can take you down a never-ending path of information overload. Conflicting, overlapping, and confusing stories of personal experiences, medical and natural recommendations. A whole lot of quackery too.

The next stage is dealing with doctors, tests, medications and insurance. Dipping into this world, you come to realize that we're just lab rats constantly tested and adjusted for the benefit of large corporations making money. Healthcare in America. More like Healthsale. Don't get me started. I have a lot to say about the topic, but it's not something I wish to write about.

Anyway, our bodies are intricate and all the systems are interwoven. When one thing happens, it's safe to say other issues lay in wait or as a result. As I was trying to figure out my way of treating The Gout (as Little Man calls it), a few tests showed other issues that are most likely related but no one can say. One smaller kidney than the other, higher than usual blood pressure and too much protein in the urine. What they can say is here, take this medicine... All I can do is continue to educate myself and find the right balance of treatment for myself.

So it's been a long few months of both post surgery rehabilitation and getting back to a sense of normalcy as I chart out my lifestyle choices for the second half of my life. I have finally come to a place that I can both write about this not so healthy episode as well as have it under control. I'm active again. More so than before. I am living and eating healthier. I’m exercising regularly. I'm experiencing a much stronger and better me that looks forward to continuing the road to health, strength and longevity. Some medications are involved which make me unhappy with the thought of it being a permanent thing. For now it’s my course. And like an alcoholic at an AA meeting that has comes to term and is there to overcome the addiction, I can stand tall and say out loud - My name is Gal and I have Gout.

Theo Progress Report 08/23/11