The place where I think I can tell the whole story - start to finish, beginning to end.
The story of Gwyneth Maude Rowan Campbell.
When I finally recovered from the shock of my third pregancy of 2010, I found myself in a strange place.
I had been through a lot in the previous four years. The previous twelve months alone were filled with grief, joy, despair, ambivalence, and hope.
While I was stunned and somewhat excited by the voicemail on my phone confirming this pregnancy, I knew that I could not handle yet another miscarriage. I remember that I refused to start writing in another journal for this next baby - whom I'd nicknamed "Little Gumdrop" - until I got through the first ultrasound. I thought, No way. I cannot let my heart be ripped from my chest and ground into pieces again.
And so I did not allow myself to be excited. I told immediate family so they could be there for us in case things went wrong again, but inside, I kept telling myself not to get attached. Not to be excited. Not to share this news with anyone. I couldn't do it.
Sometime in January of 2011, I went to my first ultrasound.
You cannot imagine my near ecstasy when the technician told me to look at the screen, and I saw what I knew - without any explanation - was my baby's heart beating on that monitor.
It was a moment I will carry with me for all my days on this earth.
I was crying, I was laughing, I was elated and scared and amazed all in one fell swoop.
That heartbeat - it changed me. Little did I know it would change my entire life.
My "little gumdrop" was a force to be reckoned with from the word go. She made herself known in every possible way. I had nausea that kept me from eating all day - only after 8pm could I keep anything down. And when I did - what was happening?!? Somehow I had been imbued with her father's tastebuds AND his metabolism.
I could eat like a truck driver. It was nothing for me to pound back chocolate bars, bags of chips, hungry man breakfast orders, extra cheese on everything - I have to admit, being pregnant was the time of my life in terms of eating! (After 17 weeks I'd only gained 4 pounds).
But there were some oddities. I suddenly had cravings for rootbeer floats. Which I happen to think rank among the most disgusting "foods" in the world. But while pregnant, I loved them. I couldn't tolerate cooking meat of any kind, and I didn't crave pickles. It seemed like I was having a fairly normal pregnancy.
I saw my family doctor for one more visit, and then received a spot with the local midwives. I was excited - my dream was for an at-home water birth. I was fairly terrified of delivery, but my biggest focus was on breastfeeding.
I had been introduced to the guru of all things breastfeeding - Dr. Jack Newman of the Newman Breastfeeding Clinic in Toronto - by my midwife. He had written the gold standard book of all things breastfeeding - aptly titled, Dr. Jack Newman's Guide to Breastfeeding. I jokingly began referring to the book as my "breastfeeding Bible."
It was the ONLY book I read about parenting or childbirth while pregnant.
Not What to Expect When You're Expecting. Not any of the other many books my friends recommended.
Just Dr. Jack's book. It went with me everywhere. I pored over the illustrations and diagrams and photos and dog-eared my loaned copy until it was wearing thin.
Here's the thing: I yearned for the closeness of nursing my child. It was something that had been glaringly missing in my maternal line. Everyone in my family had given up - my sister, my mom (I don't think my grandmother or great-grandmother even bothered).
I still don't understand what drove me to be so obsessed about feeding my baby. Perhaps it was to prove everyone wrong - the doctor who told me my breasts didn't have the right "design" for nursing. My mother and sister who told me it was too hard and not to worry about it.
And so I read and read and read. I told myself I didn't want to read all the other books or blogs or articles. I didn't want to hear all the things that could go wrong. I just knew that breast-feeding was the one thing I had to do right.
In March, I took a week's vacation during my school break to visit my university roommate who lived in Colorado. I hadn't told her I was expecting. She too was pregnant, with her second, and I was excited to surprise her at the airport with my new t-shirt, which simply said, "Pregnant is the new sexy."
Kelli and I shared a wonderful week together with her husband Jack and their 14-month-old daughter, Ellie. We talked all things babies, shared our dreams and baby names, and I even convinced her to risk trying some sushi - rebel that I am!
Midway through my visit, Kelli shared some upsetting news from the Emergency Room at the hospital where both she and her husband worked as nurses. A woman had been admitted at 26 weeks pregnant, and her water had broken.
We were both sobered by this news. I remember asking Kelli, "Will her baby even live?"
"Oh yes," Kelli assured me. "I'm sure she and her baby will be okay."
It was the first I'd known that a baby born so early could survive.
On my second appointment with the midwife, at the end of April 2011, I completed a standard urine test to check for protein levels. Generally I had been feeling well - the nausea had mercifully made itself scarce at this point - but I was experiencing some swelling that was a nuissance but nothing more. I was five months along and was getting back to running a few times a week. Things seemed to be picking up.
After peeing on my test strip, I looked at the chart and saw that my colour was a bit higher than "normal." This of course meant nothing to me - I'd never experienced more than ten weeks of pregnancy before, and everything was new.
My midwife made a note of the elevated level, but assured me there was nothing to be worried about. I asked her about my swollen feet and hands. "I thought that didn't really happen until closer to the end?"
She reassured me, saying, "I don't think you have anything to worry about. We will see you again in a month."
I went home and wrote the date in my calendar for my third midwife appointment: May 27, 2011.
. . . to be continued . . .
* * *
I had been through a lot in the previous four years. The previous twelve months alone were filled with grief, joy, despair, ambivalence, and hope.
While I was stunned and somewhat excited by the voicemail on my phone confirming this pregnancy, I knew that I could not handle yet another miscarriage. I remember that I refused to start writing in another journal for this next baby - whom I'd nicknamed "Little Gumdrop" - until I got through the first ultrasound. I thought, No way. I cannot let my heart be ripped from my chest and ground into pieces again.
And so I did not allow myself to be excited. I told immediate family so they could be there for us in case things went wrong again, but inside, I kept telling myself not to get attached. Not to be excited. Not to share this news with anyone. I couldn't do it.
* * *
Sometime in January of 2011, I went to my first ultrasound.
You cannot imagine my near ecstasy when the technician told me to look at the screen, and I saw what I knew - without any explanation - was my baby's heart beating on that monitor.
It was a moment I will carry with me for all my days on this earth.
I was crying, I was laughing, I was elated and scared and amazed all in one fell swoop.
* * *
My "little gumdrop" was a force to be reckoned with from the word go. She made herself known in every possible way. I had nausea that kept me from eating all day - only after 8pm could I keep anything down. And when I did - what was happening?!? Somehow I had been imbued with her father's tastebuds AND his metabolism.
I could eat like a truck driver. It was nothing for me to pound back chocolate bars, bags of chips, hungry man breakfast orders, extra cheese on everything - I have to admit, being pregnant was the time of my life in terms of eating! (After 17 weeks I'd only gained 4 pounds).
But there were some oddities. I suddenly had cravings for rootbeer floats. Which I happen to think rank among the most disgusting "foods" in the world. But while pregnant, I loved them. I couldn't tolerate cooking meat of any kind, and I didn't crave pickles. It seemed like I was having a fairly normal pregnancy.
I saw my family doctor for one more visit, and then received a spot with the local midwives. I was excited - my dream was for an at-home water birth. I was fairly terrified of delivery, but my biggest focus was on breastfeeding.
* * *
I had been introduced to the guru of all things breastfeeding - Dr. Jack Newman of the Newman Breastfeeding Clinic in Toronto - by my midwife. He had written the gold standard book of all things breastfeeding - aptly titled, Dr. Jack Newman's Guide to Breastfeeding. I jokingly began referring to the book as my "breastfeeding Bible."
It was the ONLY book I read about parenting or childbirth while pregnant.
Not What to Expect When You're Expecting. Not any of the other many books my friends recommended.
Just Dr. Jack's book. It went with me everywhere. I pored over the illustrations and diagrams and photos and dog-eared my loaned copy until it was wearing thin.
Here's the thing: I yearned for the closeness of nursing my child. It was something that had been glaringly missing in my maternal line. Everyone in my family had given up - my sister, my mom (I don't think my grandmother or great-grandmother even bothered).
I still don't understand what drove me to be so obsessed about feeding my baby. Perhaps it was to prove everyone wrong - the doctor who told me my breasts didn't have the right "design" for nursing. My mother and sister who told me it was too hard and not to worry about it.
And so I read and read and read. I told myself I didn't want to read all the other books or blogs or articles. I didn't want to hear all the things that could go wrong. I just knew that breast-feeding was the one thing I had to do right.
* * *
Kelli and I shared a wonderful week together with her husband Jack and their 14-month-old daughter, Ellie. We talked all things babies, shared our dreams and baby names, and I even convinced her to risk trying some sushi - rebel that I am!
Midway through my visit, Kelli shared some upsetting news from the Emergency Room at the hospital where both she and her husband worked as nurses. A woman had been admitted at 26 weeks pregnant, and her water had broken.
We were both sobered by this news. I remember asking Kelli, "Will her baby even live?"
"Oh yes," Kelli assured me. "I'm sure she and her baby will be okay."
It was the first I'd known that a baby born so early could survive.
* * *
On my second appointment with the midwife, at the end of April 2011, I completed a standard urine test to check for protein levels. Generally I had been feeling well - the nausea had mercifully made itself scarce at this point - but I was experiencing some swelling that was a nuissance but nothing more. I was five months along and was getting back to running a few times a week. Things seemed to be picking up.
After peeing on my test strip, I looked at the chart and saw that my colour was a bit higher than "normal." This of course meant nothing to me - I'd never experienced more than ten weeks of pregnancy before, and everything was new.
My midwife made a note of the elevated level, but assured me there was nothing to be worried about. I asked her about my swollen feet and hands. "I thought that didn't really happen until closer to the end?"
She reassured me, saying, "I don't think you have anything to worry about. We will see you again in a month."
I went home and wrote the date in my calendar for my third midwife appointment: May 27, 2011.
* * *
. . . to be continued . . .
