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Anna Ellenberger

August 13th, 1930 ~ March 13th, 2009

I lost my dear, sweet Gramma two weeks ago.  It has affected me more than I could have imagined.  I feel robbed.  Due to vascular dementia she had been fading from reach for about five years now, but to have her taken away so suddenly has been heart wrenching. 

One week after Poppy's birth we got news that Gramma had a sudden stroke and was unresponsive.  After a week, the decision was made to remove all active assistance as she showed no signs of change.  Morphine was given, she never spoke or woke again and faded away from this world.

When Poppy was born, we still hadn't fully decided on the middle name.  We were between Anne and Olivia, but when the moment came, I suddenly knew her name needed to have meaning. Gramma came to the hospital with Janet and Dad to meet Poppy Anne that same day and, according to them, remembered the event days later which was unusual.  We were even able to get some video and photos of the meeting of generations. 

Her passing has made me realize where many of my happy childhood memories came from.  I remember her baking and the yeasty sweetness of the house.  I remember shaking apples from trees and swimming in Grampa's homemade swimming pool that smelled like hot railroad ties.  I remember walks to the beaver pond and cross country skiing across the fields to the farmhouse.  I remember hours spent at the kitchen table playing with paints and fabrics.  I remember being allowed to stay up late while eating fruit dipped in yogurt.  I remember watching her card yarn and spin it on the homemade spinning wheel.  I remember reading books about ghosts and natural remedies.  I remember bitter chocolate.  I remember days at the beach with a picnic basket full of corn on the cob, potato salad, and chicken.  I remember mornings of hot oatmeal and crepes filled with homemade plum jam.  I remember watching painting shows and old movies.  I remember watching her paint.  I remember her love of birds and talking to the chickadees "heeeeeere pheeeeobeee".  I remember drying flowers and collecting poppy seeds from her garden.  I remember late Christmas Eves and Easter bean soup with buns and hand painted eggs.

These memories have made me reevaluate what counted as a child.  What were the ingredients of happy memories?  Are we the last generation to know the traditional grandmother?  Am I willing to let Poppy grow without the vital memories and arts that I value so much?  What is it that I cling to?  What sustains the essence of who I so badly want to be?  Was it Gramma who planted these deep roots of want; these images and ideals of an artful mama picking blackberries along the roadside and teaching her children traditional and fading arts?

Goodbye Gramma.

Thank you for the lessons in kindness and grace.

May you be as free as the birds you loved so much. 

e.

Poppy's Journey

Forgive me.  I have been absent from the internet of late, but with good reason.  Poppy has taken over our lives and we couldn't be happier.  I figured I should take this time to write about her birth, our dance.  Labour, just like many things in life, went nothing like the original plan, but It find it impossible to have regrets when I look down at this sweet sleeping face topped with fluffy fresh hair.

I began having mild crampy contractions on Wednesday afternoon/evening.  They felt like intense menstrual cramps that I could talk and walk through for the most part.  We timed one or two and found they were 15 minutes apart.  They continued through the night without much change.  Mike decided to stay home as I was going for the "stretch and sweep" with the midwife at 11:30 on Thursday and figured that would intensify things.

The visit to the midwife's office was pretty routine.  She found that I was 2 cm dilated and proceeded to do the stretch and sweep.  She then took my blood pressure, which hadn't been an issue at all throughout the pregnancy.  110 to 120 over 70 to 80 throughout.  That day though, it was 134 over 95.  This was not something she took lightly and let me relax for ten minutes then retook it.  Still high.  She sent us home, told me to rest and relax and she would drop by the house at 3:30 to recheck it.  By the time we arrived home, the contractions were much more intense and about 5 minutes apart lasting 1 minute each.  When my blood pressure was checked again, we found it had risen even more.  We had to go to the hospital immediately and have an obstetrician check things out while monitoring the baby.  We grabbed our bags and in a matter of 25 minutes I was in my hospital gown hooked up to monitors.  The contractions continued to get stronger and were now about 2 to 3 minutes apart.

The Obstetrician arrived fashionably late and, without small talk, proceeded to break my waters and discovered that the baby had taken her first poop in the womb and we would need to have a respiratory therapist at the birth to ensure she didn't aspirate fecal matter.  My blood pressure was continuing to climb and he told me that the only thing that would fix that was to have this baby as soon as possible.  To lower my blood pressure and risk of seizure he gave me a little blue pill and informed me that I would need an epidural.

After having my water broken, the contractions came crashing in on me and were coming about every minute.  I went from being in control and breathing through moderate contractions to writhing and cross eyed from the pain.  Just like that, I was out of my mind.  The epidural was a painless, welcome relief.  They continued to take my blood pressure every 30 minutes and I was comforted by the constant gallop of our baby's heart.  12 hours after being admitted, I was fully dilated and at 4 am  Friday morning I began to push.

I pushed, pooped, peed, grunted for nearly 3 hours with very little progress.  She just wouldn't move and her heart rate went up into the 200's.  The nurse and midwife decided it was time to stop and call in the doctor again to either try forceps/vacuum or C-section.  As soon as they told me I couldn't push, I began to feel every contraction and felt frenzied with the pain and pressure.  I kept asking why I was still feeling it and why they weren't correcting it, but no one was listening or answering.  It was, after all, shift change time.

The doctor arrived and told me that due to the baby's hear rate and my blood pressure, a c-section was the safest option.  I didn't argue.  I was lost and out of control and had given up.  I felt frustrated with the lack of support I felt I received from my midwife.  I would open my eyes after pushing and everyone in the room just looked at me with expressionless faces.  I had to ask if I was pushing right.  I was, but no one told me so unless I asked.  Mike and Mom were the only ones encouraging me.  At one point it seemed like there were nurses in our room for their coffee break.  They sat chit-chatting with each other while I struggled.

The OR nurse, Marty, came in and introduced himself and he just happened to be a guy I went to school with and Diane's cousin.  He turned out to be the most positive and comforting professional I encountered.  He explained everything to me and to Mike and stopped what he was doing to hold my hand and talk me through the contractions I was still feeling.  I drank something sour that gave me instant hiccups.  I was rolled into the OR.  It was stark and bright and despite all of the people in the room, I felt scared and alone.  I remember wondering where the midwife was and caught a glimpse of her leaning against the wall.  Disconnected.

I was strapped to the table, exposed and shaved.  Not being able to move during the contractions was horrendous.  Finally I felt a cold liquid go into my back and the pain melted.  The blue sheet went up and Mike came in.  I felt every bit of pressure and some cold "zings".  Mike held my hand and refused to look over the blue sheet.  Then Marty told me there would be a lot of pressure and pulling as the baby came out.  I felt like I was going to be lifted right off the table.  One of the surgeons remarked "oh, its a girl" and then Marty announced  to us that it was a girl.  Mike and I cried and laughed and kissed, until I realized there was no cry.  Mike told me later that he was terrified as he watched  them pull long, thick strings from her mouth as she lay motionless and noiseless.  Finally her cry came and we cried again.  Marty came over and explained that she needed a little help with the oxygen to get started, but she was ok.

At this point the drugs had taken hold and I was totally stoned.  I remember a loud flat line beep you hear in movies and blanking out for a few moments.  Mike was calling my name, but I couldn't move or respond.  My tongue felt like lead and I couldn't even wiggle my big toe.

Poppy was taken to the nursery and I swear I told Mike to go with her, but he says I asked him to stay with me.  I don't remember him leaving.  I was then rolled to recovery where I slowly crept out of my stupor.  The nurses were rough while pulling bandages off and wiping away blood.  Every time I thought about Poppy, I fought back tears I needed to know she was ok and to hold her.  Other recovery patients rolled in and gurgled out of their own stupors.  After an endless hour I was rolled into my room to my baby and husband and began breastfeeding. 

And so began a new journey.

I was hooked up to IV pumping antibiotics pain meds into my veins and a catheter draining my bladder until Saturday morning when I begged the nurse to get clearance to unhook me.  I broke out in hives from the blood pressure cuff and adhesives used.  Every part of my body was swollen.  We didn't get discharged until Monday and was wakened every morning by a nurse taking my blood.  The nurses were all very kind and reassuring, but we were ready for home.

Pregnancy was not what I expected nor was labour, but motherhood and I feel like old friends.  I know nothing but warmth and contentment when I look at my wee little daughter.  Breastfeeding, though challenging, has come naturally for both of us and she has managed to pork up to 10 pounds 3 ounces as of one week ago when they only expected her to be back up to her birth weight of 8 pounds 12 ounces.   She hardly ever cries or fusses and always coos in her sleep.  She loves a bath and diaper change and we feel such pride for every bowel movement, burp and fart.  I have managed to magically lose 30 pounds and managed to squeeze into Mike's jeans today.  I look forward to wearing my own jeans again soon, but for now I am just  happy to wear denim without lycra.  

 I already feel time slipping by too quickly as days bleed into weeks and I wonder how I am going to find a way to stay home with her for good.

e.

Poppy Anne Ellenberger-March

Friday, February 20th, 2009

8lbs 12oz, 22 inches

And God Smiled.