Three times my size-A Worried Expectant Mother

Early X-rays supposedly showed I was carrying a small baby. I didn’t believe that for a minute. How could this baby be small? I felt huge and ungainly. The baby was so heavy that I felt constant internal pressure. At only five-feet tall, I weighed but 95 pounds before pregnancy. And already I’d gained 25 pounds and seemed three times my size.  Everyone (including me) thought that I looked liked Humpty Dumpty! Just picture this: five-feet tall, wide maternity top, and a large bow tied around my neck. That was the height of maternity fashion then…and almost laughable now.

Understand, techniques like amniocentesis and ultrasounds hadn’t yet been invented. So there was no evidence of anything suspicious, except for how I felt.

Dr. Rogers, after making sure the hospital staff doctors knew everything, had approved a Caesarian section for me. He’d also recognized that spinal anesthesia wouldn’t be effective due to the fusion of my spine. So the delivery was purposely scheduled two weeks before my due date in order to prevent the baby from dropping into the birth canal. That would also prevent the baby from gaining too much weight and getting too large. As a result of Dr. Rogers’ precautions, I’d felt really secure knowing that he was considering all the aspects of my health history for the sake of my safety and the safety of our child.

But now Dr. Rogers’ heart attack had changed everything. Even though his associate, Dr. Bradford, had examined me off and on throughout my prenatal care, we barely knew each other. Imagine my shock when I discovered he had different plans for me. After our first appointment, my heart sank when I realized his ideas differed radically from those of my original physician.

A new reality

Dr. Bradford constructed a whole new scenario for me, one I felt helpless to change. For some reason he believed that I should go through “a test of labor.” Earlier plans and the obvious evidence didn’t convince him that I couldn’t deliver my baby vaginally. What’s more, I was too young and unassertive to challenge him. Further, in the 1950s (and even later) doctors were so revered that their decisions were seldom questioned by laypeople. While Dr. Bradford appeared to be intelligent, his contradiction of the plans by my beloved Dr. Rogers threw me into a near-panic.

With my swollen body and shifted stomach, I became extremely stressed by all that was happening and not happening. I couldn’t change Dr. Bradford’s mind or undo his decisions. So I began to sink into this new reality he’d constructed for me. It was a reality I could scarcely bear but couldn’t avert even as signs mounted that events were going from bad to worse.

With my swollen body and shifted stomach, I became extremely stressed by all that was happening and not happening. I couldn’t change Dr. Bradford’s mind or undo his decisions. So I began to sink into this new reality he’d constructed for me. It was a reality I could scarcely bear but couldn’t avert even as signs mounted that events were going from bad to worse. I was afraid of becoming one of the statistics, being like other moms who gave birth to children with disabilities.

(More to follow from Dana’s Legacy-From Heartbreak to Healing)

Watching Our Hopes Go Asunder

hings began to go wrong around the end of May, 1956, when I was 20 years old and pregnant with my first child. During the last month of my pregnancy, my body began to swell unnaturally. My stomach became very large and distended, shifting all the way over to the left, making my abdomen appear as if it were lopsided. The swelling in my hands and legs hurt all the time. Something was definitely not right.

I tried not to trouble my husband Don too much, though. He’d just started a new, highly demanding business importing clothing from Japan. The combination of giving birth to a new business and a new baby created more than enough stress for any young couple to handle. And though I was worried, my doctor didn’t seem concerned. In fact, until the last month of my pregnancy, I’d been healthy and full of energy. The days had whirled by, bursting with excitement about the baby.

Then my expectations began to unravel. For starters, my obstetrician—let’s call him Dr. Rogers—suffered a serious heart attack just three weeks before my due date. His associate, Dr. Bradford, took over my case. Although Don and I understood Dr. Bradford had an impeccable reputation, our fears began to grow. After all, I had these strange new symptoms, and the new physician didn’t know my body or me.

By contrast, I’d felt safe and worry free with Dr. Rogers, my original obstetrician. Because he knew my medical history and how it could adversely affect the birth, he left nothing unchecked. As a result of what may been have mild polio as a child, I’d developed severe scoliosis. At 12, I’d undergone spinal-fusion surgery to correct the curvature, but doctors at that time had only achieved a partial correction. My spine was still badly curved, and the combination of the curve and the spinal fusion could threaten both my life and the life of my unborn child. Because he knew all this, Dr. Rogers also knew a natural birth would be problematic.  More to follow next time

I thought I would depart from my usual philosophical stuff to share a bit about myself so we can become better acquainted. Along with this departure, I thought I would  let you in on my fascination with people who adore adoring celebrities, politicians, teams, heroes, to name a few. Yes, I’m talking about fans.  I haven’t quite figured them out  yet. Here’s a definition. A Fan- a derivation of the word, fanatic,  has both positive and negative connotations, meaning a champion, devotee, enthusiast, aficionado, but it also means, a junkie,  a nut,  an addict, zealot, cultist, and bigot to name a few. Fan covers an array of situations, but I find it most interesting in Sports. I could talk about politics, but that doesn’t have the appeal for me as much as watching my family root for the University of Southern California football team. Besides, politics would take too much space and I would only offend those who don’t agree with me. I just wanted to comment on my  family’s adoration and commitment to Pete Carroll the coach and to the team. I’m sure that by writing this today, I’m going to wreak havoc from my family, as they think I don’t care one way or another if they win, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Why would I subject myself to going to Columbus, Ohio to watch the USC- Ohio State game or to Indiana to watch the USC-Notre Dame game?? USC has infected the family with the fan flu for over 45 years and it keeps growing into the next generations. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I only wish I understood the stats and all the details about each player,  as they do. I do love the team, but have to admit, I’m not as much an addict/fan as I am a mom who wants to be where my family is as much as I can.