At my first job, I was surprised to hear of two male senior engineers teach catechism on Sundays. I thought it noble of them and that I would never ever, ever do something like that; it was just not my cup of tea to face little children with church teachings.
A few years ago, after we had our first child, my friend L-K shared with me very young children’s needs: Orderliness and repetition. She told me about The Atrium (CGS’ classroom) and Catechisis of the Good Shepherd: A Montessori-styled Catholic catechism for children from 3-12 years. Again I said “No, thank you” even though it sounded the ideal education, ‘cos I thought it was just too much work (well, this part is true! And I cope now by the “Divide and conquer” rule).
After a few years of child rearing, I could not get back to doing the things that I love doing, because of its risks and unsuitability. For self-centred reasons, I joined the noble ranks of teaching catechism to the little ones whom I thought was beneath me and realised how much I learnt from them instead. They respond to their inner joy and showed me how fully present they were whenever they come for classes. I learnt much, especially how the world has progressed (Eg. how do we explain the word “virgin” to a child in this century?)
I now feel very privileged and grateful to be part of this CGS community; many (“mainstreamed”) catechists teach the syllabus on their own, source for materials on their own, get their own spiritual inputs but for the CGS community, we readily have a group of people who work together with the same intent: to provide the children an environment where they may experience and know God on their own.
I am particularly edified by Marilyn (pseudonym), whose children are not in the catechism classes she teaches. She does it, responding to her mission, that spiritual seeds are sown in the very young. Because of her vision and great love, many many children benefit from this one selfless woman’s work. It is mind-boggling perhaps but like what I read in The Little Prince, that at least she’s someone who does things for others, other than for herself and because of that, I like her.
I suppose I am still somewhat reluctant (who wants to face more kids after we’ve had one of our own!?) but very much inspired. I also find the community extremely gratifying. jeanne anne hsi
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
the essentials
Hmm, hmm. Breathe in, Breathe out.
the essentials...
Our Breaths.
Money to buy food.
We have food to cook.
Many do not even have food to cook (of
course i do not like the cooking hour, when
kids are cranky, tired and do not help out..
and they go "Mama,mama,mama...".. Oh, shut-up!).
the essentials.
OR would we rather not have kids?
No,no,no... we want them.
But i guess it comes with the crankiness...
the hunger
it is an essential.
it is proof that we are alive.
the essentials.
What are the essentials?
In CGS, i feel...
a lot of things
are NOT the essentials.
It is GOOD TO HAVE the materials.
for the children to experience
what Jesus went thru' in
The Empty Tomb.
How it was like
@The Cenacle.
What a mustard seed looks like
And How Big a Shrub it may Grow Into.
But, if a catechist is not slowed down,
How is she (/he) going to impart
the essentials?
the essentials is necessary
'cos the kids are going to
ask Curious Questions (we may need to
guide them to ask Relevant Questions)
-throw the Catechist off guard
to
the essentials.
To what it means to be grounded
and yet detached.
The "Wonder" Questions.
The Patience.
The Acceptance.
The Wisdom.
We are instruments transforming and taming the young.
Allowing them to be tamed.
To be Loved.
To be Accepted.
In their restlessness, their immaturity.
We are instruments allowing the smart alecks to feel that
not everything works on intellect. One does not lead with
intelligence and strength alone but Leads Well with The Heart
and with The Spirit to serve. Sharing with you what are my
thoughts on the essentials. love, jeanne anne hsi
the essentials...
Our Breaths.
Money to buy food.
We have food to cook.
Many do not even have food to cook (of
course i do not like the cooking hour, when
kids are cranky, tired and do not help out..
and they go "Mama,mama,mama...".. Oh, shut-up!).
the essentials.
OR would we rather not have kids?
No,no,no... we want them.
But i guess it comes with the crankiness...
the hunger
it is an essential.
it is proof that we are alive.
the essentials.
What are the essentials?
In CGS, i feel...
a lot of things
are NOT the essentials.
It is GOOD TO HAVE the materials.
for the children to experience
what Jesus went thru' in
The Empty Tomb.
How it was like
@The Cenacle.
What a mustard seed looks like
And How Big a Shrub it may Grow Into.
But, if a catechist is not slowed down,
How is she (/he) going to impart
the essentials?
the essentials is necessary
'cos the kids are going to
ask Curious Questions (we may need to
guide them to ask Relevant Questions)
-throw the Catechist off guard
to
the essentials.
To what it means to be grounded
and yet detached.
The "Wonder" Questions.
The Patience.
The Acceptance.
The Wisdom.
We are instruments transforming and taming the young.
Allowing them to be tamed.
To be Loved.
To be Accepted.
In their restlessness, their immaturity.
We are instruments allowing the smart alecks to feel that
not everything works on intellect. One does not lead with
intelligence and strength alone but Leads Well with The Heart
and with The Spirit to serve. Sharing with you what are my
thoughts on the essentials. love, jeanne anne hsi
Monday, August 30, 2010
Our Curious Questions
“When she died, people asked, ‘Where did Princess D’s soul went?’ They were divided mostly into two groups: one said she went to heaven and the other, to hell”, said the visiting priest –v.p. (His homily and the man himself perked my interest and I went forward to sit at the front pew, for this was the priest who married HP and i)
The v.p. continued, “I thought to myself, how Jesus might have answered such a question.”
Perhaps Jesus may say to the reporters (who represent the mass media) this, ‘The question you should be asking is, “Where will MY soul go?”’
He continued to point out that the mass media is always interested in these types of questions and that Jesus has no time for curious questions. Instead, we should be asking relevant questions and if the other party is not asking ‘well’, we should direct them to ask relevant questions.
I was so happy to hear this homily, for it gives me an idea of how I may respond to the numerous queries from the little children where I teach catechism. In my enthusiasm, I shared this with my missionary friend, Hot Radish and he was apt in pointing out that he can understand why children asks curious questions but that if adults continue to ask these type of questions, it can be irritating.
While in HK, I met up with my refugee asylum-seeker friend. It has been seven years and United Nations have still to grant them a country to be despatched to. I have always been inspired by this friend who has been through so much, even though she is a decade younger than i. At this meeting, she shared with me three curious questions people pose her, at her expense.
“Jeanne, how will YOU respond if people ask, 'Why haven't you left your husband, who has been unable to provide for you?' ”, my friend asked earnestly (HK's law does not allow asylum seekers to work while waiting to be despatch).
I felt terrible that there are people who fulfil their curiosity needs, by asking such personal questions at the expense of hurting a human being.
Another frequent question she gets is regarding her three children: why or how many children she intends to have? (ie, read-between-the-lines: when she seems to be in this situation of not being able to provide for them). To which she replies in a jest, that she has four more at home or that she intends to have four more. I understand this curiosity as I had posed this question to a single, missionary friend some time back. To which my friend enlighten me with, “To have children is their way of life.” And that was enough to satisfy my curiosity.
Finally, the question “Where are you from?” triggers a negative reaction from my friend. Her body language shows it: she takes two steps back and says, “WHAT DOES IT MATTER where I am from?”, in her English-French accent.
I thought that was a pretty decent question to ask someone whom you’ve met for the first time.
She explained, “Whenever I tell people where I am from, or that I am a refugee they would distant themselves from me… or they would say, ‘Oh-your country is so poor!’ ” I felt so, so sorry. I cannot take away her pains, her sorrows, the insults hurled at her. I only feel privilege she shares them with me. And that I learnt a lesson from her experience.
I recall in my ecumenical prayer meetings with Christians of different denominations, that the mature, peaceful ones would normally not ask which church the other party comes from. Indeed, it is not necessary. It IS a curious question. We cannot stomach what the other person has taken to get there.
If you have the opportunity to meet my friend, you will find that she is a Joyful person, not a cynical one. She must have dealt with peoples’ noisiness and hurtful remarks far too many times.
Did your curious question kill someone today? jeanne anne hsi
The v.p. continued, “I thought to myself, how Jesus might have answered such a question.”
Perhaps Jesus may say to the reporters (who represent the mass media) this, ‘The question you should be asking is, “Where will MY soul go?”’
He continued to point out that the mass media is always interested in these types of questions and that Jesus has no time for curious questions. Instead, we should be asking relevant questions and if the other party is not asking ‘well’, we should direct them to ask relevant questions.
I was so happy to hear this homily, for it gives me an idea of how I may respond to the numerous queries from the little children where I teach catechism. In my enthusiasm, I shared this with my missionary friend, Hot Radish and he was apt in pointing out that he can understand why children asks curious questions but that if adults continue to ask these type of questions, it can be irritating.
While in HK, I met up with my refugee asylum-seeker friend. It has been seven years and United Nations have still to grant them a country to be despatched to. I have always been inspired by this friend who has been through so much, even though she is a decade younger than i. At this meeting, she shared with me three curious questions people pose her, at her expense.
“Jeanne, how will YOU respond if people ask, 'Why haven't you left your husband, who has been unable to provide for you?' ”, my friend asked earnestly (HK's law does not allow asylum seekers to work while waiting to be despatch).
I felt terrible that there are people who fulfil their curiosity needs, by asking such personal questions at the expense of hurting a human being.
Another frequent question she gets is regarding her three children: why or how many children she intends to have? (ie, read-between-the-lines: when she seems to be in this situation of not being able to provide for them). To which she replies in a jest, that she has four more at home or that she intends to have four more. I understand this curiosity as I had posed this question to a single, missionary friend some time back. To which my friend enlighten me with, “To have children is their way of life.” And that was enough to satisfy my curiosity.
Finally, the question “Where are you from?” triggers a negative reaction from my friend. Her body language shows it: she takes two steps back and says, “WHAT DOES IT MATTER where I am from?”, in her English-French accent.
I thought that was a pretty decent question to ask someone whom you’ve met for the first time.
She explained, “Whenever I tell people where I am from, or that I am a refugee they would distant themselves from me… or they would say, ‘Oh-your country is so poor!’ ” I felt so, so sorry. I cannot take away her pains, her sorrows, the insults hurled at her. I only feel privilege she shares them with me. And that I learnt a lesson from her experience.
I recall in my ecumenical prayer meetings with Christians of different denominations, that the mature, peaceful ones would normally not ask which church the other party comes from. Indeed, it is not necessary. It IS a curious question. We cannot stomach what the other person has taken to get there.
If you have the opportunity to meet my friend, you will find that she is a Joyful person, not a cynical one. She must have dealt with peoples’ noisiness and hurtful remarks far too many times.
Did your curious question kill someone today? jeanne anne hsi
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Birth Story – vba2c (Virginal Birth After 2 Caesareans)
How did we end up here?
First child’s emergency-c
I had my first child Zoë by emergency-c in HK. I was three weeks away from the due date, in my gynaecologist’s office. HP was with me, as with most prenatal visits and we were there during his lunch hour. Just before leaving the ob’s office, I re-opened the door and said, “Btw, I’m still spotting blood on my panties; any concern?”
“Let’s have a look.” The ob said.
That was the start of the nightmare.
He had tweaked something in my virginal and he couldn’t stop the bleeding. He was very calm when he said, “Take a cab to the hospital. In the delivery room, there are brighter lights and leg supports where it might help me stop the blood flow.” We were in the city (like Orchard) and heading towards our booked hospital (distance: like travelling towards K.K. hospital).
In the meantime, he had used a metal gauze to stop the blood from leaking out..
At the hospital, after a couple of attempts, he still couldn’t stop the blood bleed. So he decided to perform an emergency-c, to save the baby’s life then resume with stopping the blood bleed.
Second child’s “pressurised”-c
I felt that my second gynaecologist changed his tune towards the final weeks of my pregnancy. Firstly, he had seen how I squirmed whenever he gave me a virginal exam. I couldn’t handle any pain or equipment(s) (with the shape of scissors) used to open up the virginal for examinations.
Secondly, he said, “You are past your due date and the baby’s getting bigger.” But the thing that got my goat (actually, I was more anxious than angry) was when he said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday, I can’t wait indefinitely for you!”
The first stage of labor
Tuesday 22nd June 2010 9am: I had a show of blood on the panties. I learnt from the previous experience with Cayla, having “tried” to go into labor for twelve hours after that show, that a show may mean nothing for a week or two. This time, I was excited but expecting nothing may happen. I was also due to see my gynaecologist on Friday, at 40-weeks gestation.
I resolved to be like LK, my friend who labored outside the hospital for as long as she could, even enjoying a dinner with family so that the hours spent labouring at the hospital might be short. What do I know about labor, anyway!?
So I spent the morning anticipating and cooking vegetarian fried rice for my vegetarian friend Eve, whom I haven’t seen for a couple of years. Later, I realised I was privileged to have her company while in early labor. Eve wasn’t just any friend I was entertaining: even though we haven’t been in regular touch, she was someone I lodged with for a couple of nights when I fell out with my family years back. I even felt something for Bukit Batok area because that was where she stayed then.
When Eve arrived, I pre-empt her about my tummy aches and the possibility of me being in early labor. After lunch, she decided to accompany me to the hairdressers. I drove there and back. At four plus, she decided it was time to head home to beat the after office hours traffic. I insisted on walking with her and her younger child to the bus-stop. I said that the walk was good for me. I think she was really worried about me. She said she would have headed for the hospital the moment she felt any contraction pain. …
By dinner time at six plus, I was convinced I must be in labor. The surging contractions were obvious. The only thing I wasn’t sure was when to go into the hospital. I sent a text message to my doula to inform her that the intensity was about 20s, with a 5-minute interval. And that I would continue monitoring.
By seven plus, the tummy aches were getting a little painful. At one time I was pushing Cayla, my two-and-a-half years old away and she cried… I text my doula and informed her that I would like to be at the hospital by nine. She called to have a chat with me about the duration of the intense pain. Her comments were that at 20s, I might find myself labouring for a long time at the hospital. I asked if I really have to wait till the duration was 70s long before I head for the hospital. She said no, perhaps 50s.
When HP got home at about eight, I didn’t care anymore. I was on my fours at one point when the contraction surge came. I WANTED to go into the hospital. I feared that I may not be able to take the car ride with the pain.
8pm: I can never forget how I managed to mend Zoë’s shorts with a sewing machine between the contractions surges. Doing something took my mind off the pain.
The second stage of labor
During the car ride to the hospital, I was still ambivalent about taking the epidural anesthesia during labor. The “natural delivery” books I’ve read and the doula I’ve had meetings with make it seem as if taking epidural might be detrimental towards a natural delivery, by slowing down the contractions. I asked my obstetrician PT about it and his take was that the pain relief epidural might be good for some women - because these women need the respite and when it’s time to push, they are able to do it.
8.30pm: We got to the hospital and I was convinced I wanted the epidural: I could not handle the increasing intensity of the contractions.
9+pm: People have been giving me feedback that the doula I hired is pro drug free. So, I felt bad about asking for the epidural. I tried to ask her about the different lying positions on the bed that might help advance the labor and her comment was that “it doesn’t matter anymore, you’re taking the epidural.” But, with each contraction surge she would come over to help me with the breathing, by voicing it aloud with her low soothing voice (she said “in, out, in, out”).
Shortly after, my obstetrician PT came in to say hello.
I responded, “Are you going home?”
He chuckled, “Of course, there’s no point for me waiting here.”
Then the anesthetist followed right behind him. This was my first encounter of the gentleman who was about to give me the pain relief. He looked at my notes and with a grave, negative tone he said, “You’ve had two caesareans before, are you sure you want to do this natural delivery?”
“Yes,” my faint reply, through my pains of the contractions that was going on (I’ve been forewarned by the doula, of people who might not be so supportive).
He said these words before giving me the epidural, as if it’s his disclaimer, “Then you know that your baby might be compromised.”
i can’t remember how I reacted towards him but I know I felt angry at his insensitivity at saying these words - when I was in pain, and fragile and also when we would have already make the decision for a VBAC weeks/months back.
“Creep!” I thought, without voicing it aloud.
Before leaving, the anesthetist said it’ll take twenty minutes for the epidural to take effect. I waited and waited for the epidural to kick in, to take away the pain. Time crawled like never before. At one point I kept asking them why I still felt the intense pain. The nurses came in to administer a higher dosage. They also had a maximum dosage specifically for my VBA2C condition, where they didn’t want to mask off the pain totally, and I had to inform them if I felt other tear pains (ie, unlike the contraction pain which comes and goes, the tear of a rupture would be a constant pain).
I spent the next 2-3 hours labouring in pain. It was close to two am when I felt more relieved. It was also about this time the doula said she’s going home for a rest, since the epidural kicked in. We had no idea how the labor would progressed.
After she left, I managed to sleep for about an hour. When I woke up at about three plus, I felt no contraction pains. I started to worry that the labor wasn’t progressing and that it had come to a halt. I rang for the nurse. She looked at the machine and said that the surges were still there, that the epidural had kicked in and so I wasn’t feeling the pain. This was good news but it lasted not more than an hour.
After that good hour of rest, the surges came back. The nurses had already administered to me the maximum dosage of epidural. I remember feeling that laboring was like conducting an orchestra: its rhythm was: intense pain, (short relief), intense pain, (short relief,), intense pain, (short relief), intense pain, (short relief), intense pain (short relief)… Each time the pain peaked, HP could see the contraction surge on the machine and he would walk towards the bed and hold my hand. This was the best advice that I read from one of the books: that the spouse support by being there for EACH CONTRACTION.
6am: I felt that I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked HP to text my doula, to inform her that I’m feeling awful about the whole thing (we had called her earlier to say we were “not OK, and then OK - when I had that hour of sleep”). I begged for General Anesthesia (ie, to perform whatever it takes to stop the pain –emergency caesarean… at least I tried!). As an alternative, the nurses gave me the mask to breathe in the gas each time I had a contraction. It couldn’t mask off the pain but at least I was doing something whenever the pain peaked.
The doula came in and said that the doctor was coming in.
I have no idea how I passed that hour.
After 7.30am, closer towards 8am: PT came in. I asked him to give me the epidural and he replied that he couldn’t give it to me just because I asked for it. He examined me and said I was ready for the delivery. He said he’ll use the vacuum (I was so thankful when I heard this!) to take the baby out but that I had to be the one to push. He tried to get me to move a little here and a little there, to get ready for the delivery but my body wouldn’t budge. He even asked, “Why are you so sleepy?” When he was ready with the vacuum, I was ready to push (it was my version of “caesarean” – if I get him out, the pain will all come to an end).
8.05am: And that was how Ethan (meaning: sensitive) came into this world. He was 4.015 kg at birth.
The hospital listed it as “vacuum” delivery. That meant we could have two separate bills (vs “normal” delivery). I was surprised TLC used the “normal” lift (ie, shared by the public) to wheel us (newborn and me) to the room.
Reflection
I thought a lot after Ethan popped. I wondered why I equate death to pain. I am sure God wouldn’t want us to die in pain.
I began to feel thankful we had a caesarean for Cayla’s birth. If we had delivered her naturally, I felt, in the immediate aftermath of the delivery, that we might not have tried to have Ethan. I remember that with Zoë, I was naïve about raising a child. With Ethan, I am naïve about labor pain.
HP said that putting all the emotions (‘cos I felt so violated about Zoë and Cayla’s being taken out from my womb so abruptly) aside, he felt that my low threshold for pain and my quicker recovery from caesarean (I was able to walk within two days whereas for the “naturally” delivery, I got out of bed and walked *normally* after a week!) makes it seem more suitable for me.
Q & A
1. Most people asked me this question: Would you do it again (ie deliver the baby naturally)?
Well, ask me this question immediately after the delivery and the week that I was still in pain, I honestly don’t see how I can ever do it again.
A week after the delivery, I would give a thinking answer: If we have the support for a week’s recovery, we might try again (in this case, my mother-in-law was looking after the other two children). Even though the pain was more than I can take, at least I didn’t suffer the depressive thoughts of a baby taken out of the womb so abruptly.
2. Hypnobirthing
A buzzword for delivering a baby into the word using self-hypnosis. Honestly, it’s about “mind over matters”, where you focus on something (like a safe place, Eg. A beautiful garden) when the contraction pain comes (and when it goes, you relax).
–I wondered what my safe place was and I found it in the deep and fulfilling relationships I have with people… so, I thought I’ll think of all the people who have inspired me with their words when I’m confronted with the contraction pains. In the end, the practise was too short (I believe like meditation, one has to practise). I ended up hitting the railings whenever I was in pain.
I had a few prenatal visits with my doula. Firstly, I wrote down all my fears regarding this pregnancy, the delivery process and the anxiety of having this child. After that, she taught me to use words to combat those fears. Eg. I was afraid of having a boy, ‘cos we’ve never had one. And my “positive” column had words like “God gives us what we can handle.”
I also made a motivation list for having this natural delivery. I was told to read it frequently, to prepare for the birth.
3. How do we know we’re in labor?
i) Frequency of the contraction surges (Eg. it gets closer and closer; from 5 minutes to 4 minutes)
ii) Increasing duration of each surge (it gets longer and longer; from 50s to 70s)
iii) Surges will increase in intensity (more and more painful)
iv) Physical signs like much stronger bowel movement sensations or there may be more and more bloody show
4. Questions for the gynaecologist
i) If labour does not start by 42-weeks, what happens/ options are available to me (Sweep/AROM induced labour)?
ii) If labor slows down or stalls, what options are available to me?
iii) Do you have guidelines to show if “labor is progressing”? (Eg. Dilation of 1cm every 1-2hours?)
iv) How long will you be comfortable with my VBAC labor duration?
v) Do you measure the thickness of my skin, for my suitability for VBAC?
5. Birth plan
State everything you want for the doc/the-ever-changing-shifts nurses/doula to read. It’s like your “*” commandments. You can state your preferred delivery room, subject to availability. In my next birth plan (if we are blessed with another child), I would include this: Immediately after the delivery, do NOT place the newborn directly into my breast for feeding. Place just below the nipple. [I would like the wonder of seeing the newborn crawl towards the nipple].
6. VBAC obstetrician in Singapore
I will certainly use PT again. (PT: Paul Tseng. Note: only actual name used here. TLC Clinic, Thomson Medical Centre)
In progress
First child’s emergency-c
I had my first child Zoë by emergency-c in HK. I was three weeks away from the due date, in my gynaecologist’s office. HP was with me, as with most prenatal visits and we were there during his lunch hour. Just before leaving the ob’s office, I re-opened the door and said, “Btw, I’m still spotting blood on my panties; any concern?”
“Let’s have a look.” The ob said.
That was the start of the nightmare.
He had tweaked something in my virginal and he couldn’t stop the bleeding. He was very calm when he said, “Take a cab to the hospital. In the delivery room, there are brighter lights and leg supports where it might help me stop the blood flow.” We were in the city (like Orchard) and heading towards our booked hospital (distance: like travelling towards K.K. hospital).
In the meantime, he had used a metal gauze to stop the blood from leaking out..
At the hospital, after a couple of attempts, he still couldn’t stop the blood bleed. So he decided to perform an emergency-c, to save the baby’s life then resume with stopping the blood bleed.
Second child’s “pressurised”-c
I felt that my second gynaecologist changed his tune towards the final weeks of my pregnancy. Firstly, he had seen how I squirmed whenever he gave me a virginal exam. I couldn’t handle any pain or equipment(s) (with the shape of scissors) used to open up the virginal for examinations.
Secondly, he said, “You are past your due date and the baby’s getting bigger.” But the thing that got my goat (actually, I was more anxious than angry) was when he said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday, I can’t wait indefinitely for you!”
The first stage of labor
Tuesday 22nd June 2010 9am: I had a show of blood on the panties. I learnt from the previous experience with Cayla, having “tried” to go into labor for twelve hours after that show, that a show may mean nothing for a week or two. This time, I was excited but expecting nothing may happen. I was also due to see my gynaecologist on Friday, at 40-weeks gestation.
I resolved to be like LK, my friend who labored outside the hospital for as long as she could, even enjoying a dinner with family so that the hours spent labouring at the hospital might be short. What do I know about labor, anyway!?
So I spent the morning anticipating and cooking vegetarian fried rice for my vegetarian friend Eve, whom I haven’t seen for a couple of years. Later, I realised I was privileged to have her company while in early labor. Eve wasn’t just any friend I was entertaining: even though we haven’t been in regular touch, she was someone I lodged with for a couple of nights when I fell out with my family years back. I even felt something for Bukit Batok area because that was where she stayed then.
When Eve arrived, I pre-empt her about my tummy aches and the possibility of me being in early labor. After lunch, she decided to accompany me to the hairdressers. I drove there and back. At four plus, she decided it was time to head home to beat the after office hours traffic. I insisted on walking with her and her younger child to the bus-stop. I said that the walk was good for me. I think she was really worried about me. She said she would have headed for the hospital the moment she felt any contraction pain. …
By dinner time at six plus, I was convinced I must be in labor. The surging contractions were obvious. The only thing I wasn’t sure was when to go into the hospital. I sent a text message to my doula to inform her that the intensity was about 20s, with a 5-minute interval. And that I would continue monitoring.
By seven plus, the tummy aches were getting a little painful. At one time I was pushing Cayla, my two-and-a-half years old away and she cried… I text my doula and informed her that I would like to be at the hospital by nine. She called to have a chat with me about the duration of the intense pain. Her comments were that at 20s, I might find myself labouring for a long time at the hospital. I asked if I really have to wait till the duration was 70s long before I head for the hospital. She said no, perhaps 50s.
When HP got home at about eight, I didn’t care anymore. I was on my fours at one point when the contraction surge came. I WANTED to go into the hospital. I feared that I may not be able to take the car ride with the pain.
8pm: I can never forget how I managed to mend Zoë’s shorts with a sewing machine between the contractions surges. Doing something took my mind off the pain.
The second stage of labor
During the car ride to the hospital, I was still ambivalent about taking the epidural anesthesia during labor. The “natural delivery” books I’ve read and the doula I’ve had meetings with make it seem as if taking epidural might be detrimental towards a natural delivery, by slowing down the contractions. I asked my obstetrician PT about it and his take was that the pain relief epidural might be good for some women - because these women need the respite and when it’s time to push, they are able to do it.
8.30pm: We got to the hospital and I was convinced I wanted the epidural: I could not handle the increasing intensity of the contractions.
9+pm: People have been giving me feedback that the doula I hired is pro drug free. So, I felt bad about asking for the epidural. I tried to ask her about the different lying positions on the bed that might help advance the labor and her comment was that “it doesn’t matter anymore, you’re taking the epidural.” But, with each contraction surge she would come over to help me with the breathing, by voicing it aloud with her low soothing voice (she said “in, out, in, out”).
Shortly after, my obstetrician PT came in to say hello.
I responded, “Are you going home?”
He chuckled, “Of course, there’s no point for me waiting here.”
Then the anesthetist followed right behind him. This was my first encounter of the gentleman who was about to give me the pain relief. He looked at my notes and with a grave, negative tone he said, “You’ve had two caesareans before, are you sure you want to do this natural delivery?”
“Yes,” my faint reply, through my pains of the contractions that was going on (I’ve been forewarned by the doula, of people who might not be so supportive).
He said these words before giving me the epidural, as if it’s his disclaimer, “Then you know that your baby might be compromised.”
i can’t remember how I reacted towards him but I know I felt angry at his insensitivity at saying these words - when I was in pain, and fragile and also when we would have already make the decision for a VBAC weeks/months back.
“Creep!” I thought, without voicing it aloud.
Before leaving, the anesthetist said it’ll take twenty minutes for the epidural to take effect. I waited and waited for the epidural to kick in, to take away the pain. Time crawled like never before. At one point I kept asking them why I still felt the intense pain. The nurses came in to administer a higher dosage. They also had a maximum dosage specifically for my VBA2C condition, where they didn’t want to mask off the pain totally, and I had to inform them if I felt other tear pains (ie, unlike the contraction pain which comes and goes, the tear of a rupture would be a constant pain).
I spent the next 2-3 hours labouring in pain. It was close to two am when I felt more relieved. It was also about this time the doula said she’s going home for a rest, since the epidural kicked in. We had no idea how the labor would progressed.
After she left, I managed to sleep for about an hour. When I woke up at about three plus, I felt no contraction pains. I started to worry that the labor wasn’t progressing and that it had come to a halt. I rang for the nurse. She looked at the machine and said that the surges were still there, that the epidural had kicked in and so I wasn’t feeling the pain. This was good news but it lasted not more than an hour.
After that good hour of rest, the surges came back. The nurses had already administered to me the maximum dosage of epidural. I remember feeling that laboring was like conducting an orchestra: its rhythm was: intense pain, (short relief), intense pain, (short relief,), intense pain, (short relief), intense pain, (short relief), intense pain (short relief)… Each time the pain peaked, HP could see the contraction surge on the machine and he would walk towards the bed and hold my hand. This was the best advice that I read from one of the books: that the spouse support by being there for EACH CONTRACTION.
6am: I felt that I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked HP to text my doula, to inform her that I’m feeling awful about the whole thing (we had called her earlier to say we were “not OK, and then OK - when I had that hour of sleep”). I begged for General Anesthesia (ie, to perform whatever it takes to stop the pain –emergency caesarean… at least I tried!). As an alternative, the nurses gave me the mask to breathe in the gas each time I had a contraction. It couldn’t mask off the pain but at least I was doing something whenever the pain peaked.
The doula came in and said that the doctor was coming in.
I have no idea how I passed that hour.
After 7.30am, closer towards 8am: PT came in. I asked him to give me the epidural and he replied that he couldn’t give it to me just because I asked for it. He examined me and said I was ready for the delivery. He said he’ll use the vacuum (I was so thankful when I heard this!) to take the baby out but that I had to be the one to push. He tried to get me to move a little here and a little there, to get ready for the delivery but my body wouldn’t budge. He even asked, “Why are you so sleepy?” When he was ready with the vacuum, I was ready to push (it was my version of “caesarean” – if I get him out, the pain will all come to an end).
8.05am: And that was how Ethan (meaning: sensitive) came into this world. He was 4.015 kg at birth.
The hospital listed it as “vacuum” delivery. That meant we could have two separate bills (vs “normal” delivery). I was surprised TLC used the “normal” lift (ie, shared by the public) to wheel us (newborn and me) to the room.
Reflection
I thought a lot after Ethan popped. I wondered why I equate death to pain. I am sure God wouldn’t want us to die in pain.
I began to feel thankful we had a caesarean for Cayla’s birth. If we had delivered her naturally, I felt, in the immediate aftermath of the delivery, that we might not have tried to have Ethan. I remember that with Zoë, I was naïve about raising a child. With Ethan, I am naïve about labor pain.
HP said that putting all the emotions (‘cos I felt so violated about Zoë and Cayla’s being taken out from my womb so abruptly) aside, he felt that my low threshold for pain and my quicker recovery from caesarean (I was able to walk within two days whereas for the “naturally” delivery, I got out of bed and walked *normally* after a week!) makes it seem more suitable for me.
Q & A
1. Most people asked me this question: Would you do it again (ie deliver the baby naturally)?
Well, ask me this question immediately after the delivery and the week that I was still in pain, I honestly don’t see how I can ever do it again.
A week after the delivery, I would give a thinking answer: If we have the support for a week’s recovery, we might try again (in this case, my mother-in-law was looking after the other two children). Even though the pain was more than I can take, at least I didn’t suffer the depressive thoughts of a baby taken out of the womb so abruptly.
2. Hypnobirthing
A buzzword for delivering a baby into the word using self-hypnosis. Honestly, it’s about “mind over matters”, where you focus on something (like a safe place, Eg. A beautiful garden) when the contraction pain comes (and when it goes, you relax).
–I wondered what my safe place was and I found it in the deep and fulfilling relationships I have with people… so, I thought I’ll think of all the people who have inspired me with their words when I’m confronted with the contraction pains. In the end, the practise was too short (I believe like meditation, one has to practise). I ended up hitting the railings whenever I was in pain.
I had a few prenatal visits with my doula. Firstly, I wrote down all my fears regarding this pregnancy, the delivery process and the anxiety of having this child. After that, she taught me to use words to combat those fears. Eg. I was afraid of having a boy, ‘cos we’ve never had one. And my “positive” column had words like “God gives us what we can handle.”
I also made a motivation list for having this natural delivery. I was told to read it frequently, to prepare for the birth.
3. How do we know we’re in labor?
i) Frequency of the contraction surges (Eg. it gets closer and closer; from 5 minutes to 4 minutes)
ii) Increasing duration of each surge (it gets longer and longer; from 50s to 70s)
iii) Surges will increase in intensity (more and more painful)
iv) Physical signs like much stronger bowel movement sensations or there may be more and more bloody show
4. Questions for the gynaecologist
i) If labour does not start by 42-weeks, what happens/ options are available to me (Sweep/AROM induced labour)?
ii) If labor slows down or stalls, what options are available to me?
iii) Do you have guidelines to show if “labor is progressing”? (Eg. Dilation of 1cm every 1-2hours?)
iv) How long will you be comfortable with my VBAC labor duration?
v) Do you measure the thickness of my skin, for my suitability for VBAC?
5. Birth plan
State everything you want for the doc/the-ever-changing-shifts nurses/doula to read. It’s like your “*” commandments. You can state your preferred delivery room, subject to availability. In my next birth plan (if we are blessed with another child), I would include this: Immediately after the delivery, do NOT place the newborn directly into my breast for feeding. Place just below the nipple. [I would like the wonder of seeing the newborn crawl towards the nipple].
6. VBAC obstetrician in Singapore
I will certainly use PT again. (PT: Paul Tseng. Note: only actual name used here. TLC Clinic, Thomson Medical Centre)
In progress
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Becoming real
I think I fantasize too much about mission work. When we first got married, sometimes I felt as if I had sacrificed my first calling of becoming a missionary for marriage.
I asked my mil’s helper what food she misses most from her country. I promised to bring her out for a meal the week that everyone’s away.
When the time came, I was eager to fulfil my promise. Travelling to the designation was not a problem. It was when we were selecting the cafeteria that I almost chickened out. In my mind, I was toying with the idea of asking her to pack what she like so that we could go elsewhere to eat food that I am more used to. What a terrible host! I was lucky that there were two dishes at an eating place that were appealing to my taste buds.
My five year old enjoyed the meat on the stick and the dessert. I was glad my mother came along ‘cos I felt safe with her around. It was truly an experience of stepping out of my comfort zone: how can I fantasize so much about mission work when I am not even adventurous about putting a morsel of foreign food into my mouth? jeanne anne hsi
mil: mother-in-law
I asked my mil’s helper what food she misses most from her country. I promised to bring her out for a meal the week that everyone’s away.
When the time came, I was eager to fulfil my promise. Travelling to the designation was not a problem. It was when we were selecting the cafeteria that I almost chickened out. In my mind, I was toying with the idea of asking her to pack what she like so that we could go elsewhere to eat food that I am more used to. What a terrible host! I was lucky that there were two dishes at an eating place that were appealing to my taste buds.
My five year old enjoyed the meat on the stick and the dessert. I was glad my mother came along ‘cos I felt safe with her around. It was truly an experience of stepping out of my comfort zone: how can I fantasize so much about mission work when I am not even adventurous about putting a morsel of foreign food into my mouth? jeanne anne hsi
mil: mother-in-law
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