motherhood – A series of deep breaths

The Birth of Ms K

December 28, 2019Analyn Erin

Over Christmas and Boxing day I was miserable. All I wanted to do was hibernate, and it’s pretty much all I did. I was in so much pain from my pelvic disorder, my prosthetic no longer fit and I was so done.

On the 27th I even made a post of how done with being pregnant I was. Later that day though something shifted, I had a boost of energy, took a shower, did my hair and wanted to go out, even though I had been having cramps and back pain on and off all day. As I was debating wether taking a 5 and 3 yr old to a restaurant was a good idea it hit me that labour may be near. I decided to stay home. After dinner I got in a bath so I could do my best to rest and relax. While in the bath my waves were anywhere from 6-10 minutes apart, but were sporadic in length and intensity. I had already planned a phone call to help mentor someone on breastfeeding and my waves weren’t consistent enough to cancel. I started the call telling her that if I paused I wasn’t ignoring her but in early labour. After an hour I ended the call as I was pausing more and more and had to focus getting through them. I said goodnight to my kids and I went to bed myself hoping to sleep a few hours in case this really was it was it ( I still wasn’t totally convinced). I couldn’t find a good position though, my doula suggested more pillows and more pillows didn’t work. I went downstairs after a couple hours to bounce on the birth ball but all I was was annoyed, I moved back to bed. I couldn’t get comfortable no mater what I did and the I was becoming more and more irritable, all I wanted was some sleep. Finally around midnight I gave up, I knew I was in labour but I wasn’t ready to call my birth team. I decided to distract myself my blowing up the birth pool for my planned home birth. My big pregnant belly and I crawled around the dining room, putting down plastic tarps, blew up the pool and was happy for the distraction.

At 2am, after one last attempt at sleep I knew it wasn’t coming and I was ready to call my team. I called my doula, midwife and photographer. Within an hour they were all there. Just before they got there I did my own cervical exam I knew I was around 4cm but I asked to be checked by my midwife when she got there jut to be sure and yup I was at 4cm. I loved being at home and being able to move as I wanted to. I went from the couch, to the cold floor, to sleeping on the stairs in between waves. I was freezing cold and spent a lot of time being wrapped in a blanket a friend had made for me 18 years before. My doula was a god send, making sure I was sipping on water, getting the tens machine hooked up and making sure the bowl was ready when I threw up. Even with that though, all I wanted was to be in my birth pool I think I asked between each wave, it felt like is was taking forever to fill. I spent this time visualizing waves crashing over me and moving out into the ocean, over and over. The wave would start and I wold picture it coming towards me getting taller and bigger, at its peak it was crash over me before moving back out. I kept telling myself I could do this, and then I switched to telling myself I AM doing this.

Finally I was able to get into the birth pool. Crutches were impossible so we pull one of my kitchen barstools up next to the pool for me to sit and swivel into. I felt so relaxed. My waves spread out and became more manageable. Because things had slowed down a bit my midwife mentioned getting out to pick things up. Instinctively though, I knew that I was where I needed to be (I say that nicely but what I was thinking was, there is no fucking way I’m getting out of this pool.) We did try to have me move positions but I just wanted to be sitting. AT this point I’m told every thought my birth might take longer than expected. To the point that my photographer was about to text her husband to make child care arrangements for her children.

Just before 5:30am a wave came over me and all of a sudden felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. I looked at my doula and asked why I was doing this, she knew this was my last baby and said just that “you never have to do this again”. It was what I needed to hear, I just had to do this and then I was done. It wasn’t long after that I let out a moan. That very specific animal noise that let everyone know I was probably in transition. Waves started taking over and coming back to back. It was at this time I went from sitting to wanting to be on my knees leaning against the pool. It was so intense and I felt so overwhelmed that I started saying no. “no, no, no, no” My doula looked at me and said “yes” again she said what I needed to hear. “Yes, yes, yes” I repeated back.Almost immediately it felt like K took an elevator down into my birth canal. Drop. Intensity increased which I didn’t even know was possible. All I could do was swear, scream and go with my body as it took over pushing my baby out. I remember thinking that women were crazy to like pushing because this felt horrible. Once K started crowning my midwife asked if she could rupture my membranes but I didn’t hear her. My doula had to get in my face to make sure I knew what my midwife was asking. My response was that “I don’t care, I just want her the fuck out!”. I felt the ring of fire and then got a small break. My body took control and started pushing the rest of K out, which resulted in a second ring of fire and I remember thinking this was bullshit. It didn’t last long though, my midwife caught her and within seconds she was in my arms and I completely forgot it all.

She was so beautiful and so covered with vernix that I had to wipe some off so she could open her eyes. Emotions took over. I have never felt so powerful. We relaxed in the pool getting to know each other. I birthed her placenta. Her brother and sister came to meet her. The second midwife showed up (everything happened so fast she missed the birth) She was born 17 minutes after that moan and 3 minutes after the fetal ejection reflex took over.

To this day her birth is something I’m incredibly proud of. I knew what I wanted and I put in the work to make it happen. Her birth left me stronger.

Photo Credit : Michelle Cervo Photography

The days before it all fell down

September 19, 2019Analyn Erin

This week…..

Fuck this week.
Fuck the ptsd.
Fuck the memories.
Fuck the physical way my body is holding onto this trauma.

I’m remembering.
I’m breathing.
I’m trying to just be.

On Sunday I woke up with a blinding migraine. The pain so bad I could barely open my eyes. Telling myself not to vomit. Ice on my head. Repeating to myself “you’re ok” and “you’re safe” over and over. Pushing out the voices that creep in saying “maybe it’s cancer.”
Through the pain I remembered what day it was….September 15th.

On September 15, 2017 I woke up alone. No kids and no partner for the first time in years. I tried to work except the nagging in my head wouldn’t stop. “you have no excuses, go to the walk in clinic, go now.

The day before I had finally googled my symptoms. I was going to prove my partner wrong. I was going to put his worries at ease. The lump was breastfeeding related. The lump was nothing.
Instead one red flag after another. Instead each new website giving the same information.

Lump is painless- check
Lump is unmovable- check
Lump isn’t smooth- check

Check.

CHECK

CHECK.

It was a Friday morning and the walk in clinic was dead. Almost eerily quiet. I went back right away. The Dr seemed almost surprised how quickly and easily he felt the lump. He did not tell me I was too young for breast cancer and he didn’t put my mind at ease with “it’s probably nothing.” Instead he asked me if I still had an oncologist from my bone cancer. Gave me a requisition for blood work and an order for a CT scan.

I walked out of the clinic numb. I left a voicemail for my oncologist, got my blood work done and was surprised with how quickly she called back. Again no reassurances just “breast cancer is very treatable”

It was then that without knowing I knew.

I remember the sun.
I remember my fresh pedicure.
I remember holding in the tears as I went for a spa treatment.
I remember cancelling my plans for that night.
I remember sobbing to my best friend on the phone.
I remember sobbing to another friend at her kitchen table.
I remember trying to get work done.
I remember telling myself I was overeacting.
I remember my love racing home from his work conference.
I remember another friend come to be with me with snacks.

I spent the weekend in a haze of what ifs.

_______________________________________________________________________
Monday September 18, 2017.

Another sunny day.
Another day being mom, getting kids ready for school, going to the park, making small talk.
Being distant because I could feel my life was about to change.
Wanting so badly to connect with the parents around me and yet feeling like I was drowning.
Wondering if they could see the worry on my face.
The call came, a ultrasound and biopsy in 2 days.

Today looked so much like that Monday in so many ways, in too many ways to count. In so many ways that it was impossible to not remember. It was impossible for my body to not feel exactly the same way it did 2 years ago on the brink of my life changing.

As I get closer to my official diagnosis anniversary I’m trying. I’m trying to process and navigate. I’m trying to honour where I was then and where I am now. I’m trying to let myself feel how I feel without pushing the emotions away. I’m being honest both with myself and those around me. I’m reminding myself that 2 years isn’t that long to heal. I’m giving myself love and kindness.

Why I don’t hide.

December 7, 2018December 7, 2018Analyn Erin

I try to take my girls swimming once a week.

I take them in the Womens change room when I could use the family one or even the disability rooms.

I get changed with them in the middle of the room instead of behind the privacy curtains.

I’ll be honest though, this is hard. It’s one thing to take off my leg at cancer camp or when I am speaking to a room full of middle schoolers. It’s one thing to show my reconstructed breast to other women going through it or through a photographers lens. In a locker room where the people around me don’t know me or my story and have to come up with their own narrative is a lot more scary.

I have no idea what they think when I take off my prosthetic to drain the water and change my wet stump sock into a dry one. Do they wonder if I was born like this? Do they think it’s gross or weird?

I have no idea if they look at my “breast” and wonder why I would get fake boobs. Or what thoughts they have about my “boob job”

It takes some deep breaths, some telling myself I am safe, some telling myself that what they wonder or think doesn’t matter. But I go through this process each and every time I go to the pool, each and every time I get changed in a room of strangers.

I know I am making a choice to do that.

My choice in changing in a room full of strangers is intentional.

It is intentional.

Me dressing and undressing right in the open where other women can see me. I do it because I want to show my girls they don’t have to hide their bodies. I do it because I want them to grow up knowing what body positivity looks like.

I am making that choice for me, to build my own confidence. To hope that one day I won’t wonder let alone care what others think about me. I hope to raise strong and powerful girls who can say “if my mom can love her body scars, amputations and all then so can I”

Today though the hard was harder than usual. Today a mom was nursing her baby. My girls are not shy and they engaged in a conversation with her. Soon it was talk about boobies. K made an observation “you have boobies.” The women looked at her and said “all mommies have boobies.” I could feel my heart in my throat. I wanted to cry because no, not all mommies have boobies. E piped up “my mom doesn’t, she had hers cut off” The women looked at me confused and half naked in a pool change room I told a small part of my story. Without preparation. Without wanting to.

It will come up again. My children will make conversation and it will come up that mommy had cancer. It will come up that mommy had her boobies cut off. That mommy has a robot leg. They will hear their mom tell her story and one day they might now how hard that is sometimes and in knowing how hard it is I hope they see my strength. I hope they know I could have hidden but I chose not to. I hope it gives them the strength not to hide either.