Archive for December, 2015


Phoenix Rising

On September 10th, 2015, I gave birth to my incredible baby girl, Phoenix Elle Campbell. The following is her birth story. 

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So, on Wednesday, September 9th, we went in for a BPP, intending to leave quickly and go get lunch. The sono tech told us that baby’s fluid was looking a bit low and went to speak to the doctor on call at the time. He came in a few minutes later and sent us straight to L&D, saying that the fluid was dramatically low and that our doctor would meet us after we’d been admitted.
They placed cervidil at about 5:30pm and we settled in for the night. At 5:30am, I had only progressed to 2cm. I requested another dose of cervidil instead of pitocin, which my doctor approved. By 9:00am, mild contractions had started. By 5:00pm, they were strong enough to require a lot of work. I asked them to come check me so they could remove the cervidil, and I was 4cm, 70% effaced, and “contracting nicely” on my own without the need for pitocin.
The trouble was, I thought I was much further along, and I was feeling awful and starting to get discouraged. I started asking my husband to request IV pain meds. He told me it wasn’t in the plan, so no. Within an hour, I was starting to show other signs of transition—shaking, vomiting, contractions that were double-peaking and continuing seemingly without end—and then my water started to leak out. I asked the doctors to come check again, and after all that, I was only 5-6cm. I started crying and asked my doctor about the IV meds. He said it would only knock me out, it wouldn’t dull the pain any, and it would reach the baby. So I declined.
After that I got into a zone. I paced the room, got on hands and knees, squatted, and hung onto my husband through all the contractions. Around 8:45, I was squatting and kept complaining that I felt intense pressure on my bowels. Damany came over, glanced between my legs, and said in a shaky, excited voice, “Babe, don’t push and get on the bed.”
Within minutes doctors and nurses had materialized from EVERYWHERE and were clearing my bedside table, turning on the exam lights, prepping the newborn area. I started to relax as I realized we were nearing the end, and that the contractions had spaced out somewhat. They got me into position on the bed and coached me through the pushes. I could see baby’s head in the mirror, and I wanted to push her out all in one go, but I kept hearing “push until the point of comfort” in the back of my head.
There was a burning feeling, and I tried to keep going through it. They told me one more would get her out. I pushed, the burning intensified beyond belief for just a second, and then the head was out. I could still feel her feet kicking. Two more pushes and they handed me my beautiful, beautiful daughter. She just looked at me as they patted her on the back, trying to get her to cry, and we just stared at each other. I had completely forgotten about everything and everyone else in the room. She cried softly, and a nurse helped bring her to my chest, where she latched right away.
We ended up needing a little bit of pitocin to help expel the clots from my uterus and help it tighten, so I talked them into half the normal “smallest dose” and it did the trick. They gave me two whole hours with my little girl before doing any of the newborn procedures, and she was bright and alert and hungry. My doctor, who was in a C-section at the time and couldn’t deliver for me, came in and looked at me with narrowed eyes. “I was supposed to be here,” he said dramatically. “The whole floor is talking about you. They’ve never seen someone go from 4cm-10cm so fast. You did it in four hours. And you did it on your own. They keep talking about how controlled your pushes were. Everyone’s telling me I missed a great delivery. One of the best we’ve ever had here.”

I wrote this in the comments on the blog, but my husband and I are committed to raising children that welcome feedback and don’t internalize it. Today’s generations have no sense of self and the criticism of others defines their self-esteem.

The Oxytocin Chronicles

We’re raising a generation of pussies. There. I said it.

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When I was a junior in high school, I had the most amazing AP English teacher. Her name was Ms. Wei. She prefaced the class by saying that she would grade us fairly, and that these grades would not always be A’s.

“I get that you and your parents all think you all are ‘special snowflakes,’ but I will grade you based on your writing, and if your parents email me complaining about these grades, I will ignore them.”

Now Ms. Wei was a little blunt for some (I freaking adored that woman, and I don’t know anyone who didn’t), but she brought up a good point.

Millennials: your parents won’t say it, and your peers won’t say it because it seems every little thing is sending you all to a therapist because you’re just sooooooo victimized, but

Get. The…

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