tired

The kids came by, the usual nightly visits at the postpartum center. I was rubbing Petra's back as we read a magazine together, when I felt something bumpy under her shirt. Lifting her shirt to take a look, I see a rash of small blisters across her torso.

Chicken pox.

There's been an outbreak of it two weeks ago at a magnet school in Hsinchu, and two of Petra's classmates got it. Two weeks is about the period of time it takes for the infection to show itself in the form of a telltale rash.

It's probably a matter of time before Declan breaks out too.

When does life get easier? It just feels like it's one thing after another.

Poor Daniel; he's going to have to miss more work time while the kids now must stay out of school for a week at least.

Ugh. At least I'm not pregnant anymore. Read some gnarly stuff about how the varicella virus can get through the placenta and really mess up the fetus. Thank God for big blessings.

"the fourth trimester"

I'm sorry to keep whining on about it, especially because c-sections are nowadays so routine that about one in four births in Taiwan happens via this abdominal surgery. But I'm having a hard time accepting it, for some reason. That I had my stomach cut open and my baby pulled out of me a week and a half ago. That, unlike my previous two natural births, I'm still in pain and wearing a stomach binder to get around gingerly. That I won't be able to feel safe about swimming or exercising lightly for another 2-3 months. That by the time I can really put this surgery behind me and stow it purely in my memories, the baby will be half an year old.

It was just such a surprise, I suppose. And to not feel a sense of victory and empowerment like in the aftermath of my previous two births. Still, I may be romanticizing natural birth recoveries a bit. Even though I was able to get around pretty soon after Petra's birth, there were still lots of aches and pains and blood.

Gradually, I'm becoming okay with having had to go through this surgery. I still wonder if not being forced to go to the hospital when we did could have changed things, but that's over and done with. In a way, it's good that I have this built-in slow-me-down condition now, because the three months long timespan that I've settled on before I start using my pool pass again is the same timespan as the so-called fourth trimester. An enforced rest period in which I bond with the newborn instead of focusing on getting back in shape is not a bad thing. I just hope I'll still be able to take the kids to New Taipei City and Taipei for the Christmas festivities being held in those cities before their deadlines.

Parenting three children and all of them being happy about it? Can I do this?

oops (an interlude)

I've said at the end of my last post that this entry will be about the food at the postpartum care center. However, I've been so hungry today that I finished devouring my breakfast and lunch before I remembered I was supposed to take pictures. Today's offerings have been especially good, with a rice burger for breakfast and a hefty lamb chop included for lunch (which Daniel ate, because he loves lamb).

So I'll try again tomorrow. In the meantime, I just want to say how much I appreciate the nursery staff as backup for baby care. This morning was my wellness check back at the air force hospital; I worried since last night about how I should care for Jude given the unpredictable wait time at the clinic (an unavoidable feature of socialized health care). As it turned out, I nursed him right before we left the center, pumped 30ml of milk to tide him over just in case, and he hung out at the nursery until I returned two hours later. So much nicer than hauling him in the car to the hospital and back. He got a bath and wellness check while I was gone.

ze trolley

I found this trolley system by the nursery quite ingenious. Every baby is assigned one trolley immediately upon check-in. At the nursery, each baby stayed in his own trolley bassinet, and any medical information/note on baby care is stored via post-it at the head of the bassinet. Below the bassinet is the wash basin, diapers, baby wipe, and plastic tent to pitch over the baby's face during transit between the mother's room and the nursery. Hanging to the side is a caddy filled with alcohol disinfectant for adult hands, butt balm and cotton stick, and paper to record each nursing and diaper changing time so the staff knows how long and when the baby has eaten recently. Because Jude stays in my room most of the time, the staff has also included an extra set of baby clothes for the times when Jude pees all over himself while I am changing his diaper (happened about twice now). 

So organized. I want a trolley for at home now.

As for the wellness checkup at the clinic this morning, uggggh.... The doctor prescribed me some Ergonovine, which would cause uterine contractions to pass the lasts of the blood clots. I might hold off on taking it if my body can get the job done much more gently albeit in a longer period of time. I dislike medical interventions/assistance unless absolutely necessary.

postpartum care, traditional chinese style

After childbirth, the Chinese tradition is for the woman who've just given birth to be confined indoors for a month, eating special foods that Chinese medicine deems to be most restorative to the woman's qi, and not bathing with or consuming plain water, from the tap or otherwise. Postpartum is one of four critical time periods in a woman's life wherein she can (re)adjust her body's overall health. To not take this time seriously will lead to chronic pain and strength issues down the road. There's a term for this restorative period, which could be literally translated in many different ways. The characters themselves stand for "sit" (zuo4), "moon" (yue4), and "child" (zi).

Needless to say, most people here were aghast to hear that I did not 坐月子 after birthing my previous two kids. I often wistfully thought about this tradition, and how I wish I could have experienced it. "But still not worth going through another pregnancy, childbirth, and the recovery afterwards," I concluded after each daydream. But lo and behold, I get to experience it after all. At first, I worried that it might be overly indulgent, because postpartum care centers aren't cheap. With room and board, and full-time baby care, laundry and cleaning services, etc... good postpartum care centers are financial investments i.e. ranging from around NT$5000 to NT$8000 *minimum* per day. At least this was the range of starting prices with the four centers I visited before I signed the contract with the one at which I'm currently staying. This one is known for its good meals, and I figured food is the most important aspect of my stay.

Given that Hsinchu has the highest birth rate for the entire island of Taiwan, we the lucky pregnant women of Hsinchu run into problems that other women in other cities don't have to worry about--not enough space in the postpartum center of our choice. I'm slowly realizing how blessed I am to have local people--if not friends, at least truly friendly--who were looking out for me. One of them got on my case about securing a spot at a postpartum center when I was just eight weeks pregnant. I was all, what's the hurry, dude? Little did I know that by the time she took me to tour the centers at nine weeks pregnant, all the smallest rooms have been booked at my postpartum care center. Apparently most women start reserving a spot as soon as they see the two lines on the pregnancy test. So I had to opt for the next size up room, paying a little extra per day for space that I don't absolutely need (adding to my bourgeois guilt). Another local person helped secured an extra meal every day for my husband by pressing the center with the fact that I came via her recommendation. Once again, the Chinese system of personal relationships yielding business results played a hand. 

Throughout my pregnancy, after I've put down a deposit already, I struggled every now and then with the thought of such a luxury as having this postpartum period away from home. Did I really need to be fully cared for in my meals and environments after I gave birth for the third time? Shouldn't I be an old hand at this and not just squander our family's money in something I don't absolutely need? Maybe I'll just stay for two weeks instead of the full month... But as it turns out, I really needed and appreciated this time now, given how brutal c-section recovery has been. I was deeply worried at the hospital on how I was going to be able to care for the newborn with diaper changes when I couldn't even get out of bed without breaking down in pain-induced tears or having to re-learn how to pee again after they pulled out the catheter. The postpartum care center staff has been absolutely wonderful in helping me keep Jude clean and making sure he's doing well physically. It freed up a lot of time for me to lie down and heal. 

view of my room from the entryway

There is wireless, and a big comfortable bed. What more do I need? I'm situated on the second floor (out of five floors), just floor-level with a kindergarten next door. Watching the kids play during the day prevents me from being too stir crazy, although it does make me wonder about my own kids and what they're up to. At night, the kindergarten offers some kind of zumba class for adults, so I get to spy on people dancing around. 

The metal can in the shower stall contains herbal water infused with palm grass, which supposedly has pain relieving properties. It is renewed every afternoon piping hot so I can wipe myself down (c-section, sigh) without being cold. Tap water is not allowed; I was not to use the actual shower.

The center also provides a breast pump, bottles, and sterilizer. I used the pump twice during the first two days due to engorgement. It is truly hospital-grade quality. A lot of moms use it to stock up bottles so that they can sleep through the night while the nursery watches their babies all night and feed accordingly. I would have done the same if I'm not so paranoid about confusing my breasts' milk supply. (Is that really a thing? Oh well.)

To prevent group outbreaks, we have to wear outer robes such as this along with medical face masks in order to meet with visitors on the first floor lobby. The newborns are to be kept away from siblings and in the nursery. If any outsiders come into my room to visit, I must let the staff know so that they can disinfect the room for 30 minutes before wheeling the newborn back into the room.

This painting was lit up and quite eye-catching upon my first entrance into my room. Apparently every room has a painting in such a style, just different subjects. Some moms had voiced their preference not to have such pictures in their space, but these artworks stay up because they're done by a well-connected personage who is not to be offended. I think I got lucky with my art piece, as I quite like the abstract feel to it.

I plan to detail the meal aspect of the postpartum care center in my next post.

an account of jude's beginning

Since I've written an account for Declan and Petra upon the events of their birth, it's only fair that their little brother gets his turn. This account is far, far different from the other two, and I wonder if this is a pattern that will hold with my third child's life. That wouldn't be a bad thing, as I want my children to avoid the typical birth order stereotypical roles. I want them to have interdependent destinies of their own.

(First off, I have to say -- it feels so weird now when I play music or sing. I've gotten so used to thinking that I have a fetus sharing the listening experience with me. As I started to play Frou Frou songs in the background just now, I felt my aloneness. The baby is currently in the postpartum care center's nursery getting a checkup.)

the name

Daniel and I originally had completely different name possibilities for the baby, but for some reason, none of them really felt like they fit. Feelings and intuitions are hard to explain... but the names felt too forced, too different from a sense of this new person--a sense of someone sensitive but not maudlin, strong yet vulnerable as well. I was slightly frustrated that we weren't receiving a girl, because I had the perfect girl name ready. Even after the threatened miscarriage scare, prolonged bedrest, and everything up and down throughout this pregnancy, we were drawing a blank at week 20.

We almost resorted to using family names, to at least fulfill the cause of carrying on traditions, but Daniel's family's names are William and Thomas. I really don't like the nickname Bill, and while I really like the name Thomas, I have the misfortune of having an ex-boyfriend named Tom. In this way, such a fine name becomes off limits to me by association. I started to browsing the comment sections of BehindtheName website, which is often quite entertaining in how people can get so worked up about liking or disliking a name. "Jude" seemed a slightly controversial name, with lots of arguments over its origins and connotations... It appeals to me in its similarity with the name "Jules", which I like, but the sound "l" is not a friend to Chinese speakers and I don't want to alienate my parents. What clinched my favor towards it is when someone mentioned that St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes, who Catholics appeal to as a last resort in hopeless situations. Given how dire this child's situation had been, and how many of my friends (of all different kinds of faiths) prayed for him, I found this appropriate.

So, Jude.

Jude's middle name was going to be Hosea, just because it's one of my favorite books from the Bible. Then again, it never really fully clicked as belonging to this person. There's a connotation to Hosea that is a bit too sad and stark for this Jude, who feels to me like he has a happy and content disposition even in difficult times. (Am I already pigeon-holing my son without seeing him for the way he really is?) Then, at a church we've just started attending two or three months ago, Daniel and I sat through a sermon about breaking down misconceptions and prejudices that prevent us from seeing God's surprising acts; it was centered around Acts chapter 10, and the Roman centurion Cornelius. This figure's background really resonated with me in how my children must come to terms as well with their hybridity, as Cornelius did in living as a gentile close to the Jewish faith. And Cornelius sounded like a really decent leader, who cared for the poor.

So, Jude Cornelius. The more I hear it, the more I feel we have uncovered the right name for our third child.

the labor (or there lack of)

Declan's birthday weekend consisted of Saturday outing with one of two invited classmates' family at a local for-profit playspace. Declan had been asking pretty consistently to visit this place every time we waited for the government-run nonprofit playspace located just one floor above to open. So whoever's in charge of the advertisement department, your long game has finally paid off after two years. Saturday passed in this socializing fashion, so it was a bit tiring for me, who has surprisingly morphed into a major introvert whose favorite place to be is in bed, alone. On Sunday, it was church service in the morning per usual, then I had reserved a DIY session with the post office, who's having an exhibit about postal history and stamps around the world. While the kids were coloring away happily at the event, and Daniel went off to buy a cup of coffee, I suddenly felt a lot of leaking, the way it was when my water broke for Petra's arrival. Still I wasn't sure because I've been leaking a lot of pee all the time throughout this eventful pregnancy (oftentimes making me afraid that I might be bleeding again) (sorry for the tmi). To be safe, I cut short the rest of Declan's birthday plans (make a chocolate cake with him, eat it) to head home and rest in bed. After an hour, it was pretty obvious that it was in fact water breaking.

At this point, we had to share the information with my mom, who just happened to be in town that day for Declan's birthday. To share this information, Daniel and I knew, was to be prepared for everything to escalate into panic mode because my mom tends to be an anxious person with easy triggers (oh how I hope to escape this fate). Sure enough, within five minutes, my dad has been notified and I am being lectured about needing to rush to the hospital asap. Reasons cited are: it's your third child so labor will be fast, your water has broke so there's a risk of infection and prolapsed umbilical cord, hospital is the best place to be for you right now.

Given my experiences with Declan and Petra, I doubt that my labor will be all that fast. Plus the times my water broke, it still took a while before I went into active labor. Knowing myself, the hospital is definitely not a place I want to be in until I'm fairly ready to transition/push. However, given the unprecedented and scary aspects of this particular pregnancy, I cannot dismiss the second reason my dad kept harping on out of hand, so Daniel and I slowly made our way towards the hospital. I felt contractions regularly coming in every five minutes, but quite bearable, so we parked by the Cultural Center and I walked around the ample green space while Daniel went to get coffee and sandwiches from a nearby Starbucks. A bird trying to pass off as a tree stalk kept me entertained.

After a while, and another phone call from my dad, we decided to head to the hospital. As soon as we arrived, we were herded to a bed in a room full of other hospital beds, separated only by a sheet of pink curtain. I was told to lie on my back as they hooked my stomach to a fetal heartbeat monitoring machine. My contractions stopped after a while of this position. Through it all, Daniel and I listened to the woman across the small space from us grunting and moaning in pain. I thought how much nicer it would be if she could move around instead of being forced to stay in bed.

As it happened, the labor process was really quite uneventful and boring to recount. Basically, nothing happened. My body apparently decided "Nope, not today", and given that Jude's only 37 weeks, I'm not surprised. Even now, I wonder if my water would have broken if I had taken it easier that weekend, such as not walking to the market that Sunday morning before church service and walking back carrying a bunch of baking ingredients. Unfortunately, hospital policy dictated that the baby must be out of me within 24 hours of water breaking, so I felt the pressure of a deadline that I was unlikely to meet. Heading into midnight, Daniel couldn't take the woman's grunting and wailing anymore, and paid out of pocket for a private room for us (NT$3000/night). We slept. In the morning, it felt like just another pregnant day for my body, minus the still-leaking amniotic fluid.

My doctor showed up and we argued about my being put on the monitor for however long. (At one point, he said, "You're making decisions based on your understanding of your own body, but I'm aware of all the possible complication dangers.") We also argued about how to administer IV for me. I lost my position of it not being necessary. He compromised by giving me a hep lock. I got checked for the third time and there was absolutely no labor progress. We were down to eight hours until deadline. I decided to have a c-section because I got a feeling that induction would not be a good idea. Turned out Daniel had felt this way since the night before, but didn't want to pressure me in any way. I take seriously my husband's intuition about these kinds of things.

More arguments. Apparently Taiwan's national insurance won't cover c-sections unless there's proof I'd tried to give birth naturally beforehand, such as being started on pitocin. Daniel put his foot down and said we'll pay out of pocket for the surgery. More staff came in to go over the financial details. In the end, my doctor somehow made the hospital absorb the cost because of my dad. There's a whole Chinese code of honor spiel behind this chain of events that I don't want to get into right now. Those who grew up with it don't need the explanation, and those who haven't won't get it (like Daniel, who was annoyed that my doctor had contacted my dad to try to change my mind).

I was petrified of c-sections. The association I have with this operation is a medieval picture I've seen while browsing the museum of medical abnormalities in Philadelphia: a dying woman was being cut open and her child taken out of her. The operation itself turned out to be ok. I sang through most of it to distract myself from the pulling and tugging sensation in my abdomen, the buzzing and singed smell of the equipments working. I heard the staff say in staggered form the birth time ("11:57am"), and then heard Jude's cry. The anesthesiologist very considerately wiped away my tears.

Now the c-section recovery. That is a real bitch and a half. I hope to God that truly in two weeks I will not be in this much pain still one week out. I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that there are women who have of their own volition had more than one c-section. They must be mentally among the strongest people in the world. Once again, childbirth has given me an increased respect for my mother, who went through two c-sections. As for my mother-in-law, who had four c-sections, I am speechless. I never ever want to be pregnant ever again because this birthing experience has been so frustrating/unpleasant/scary/defeating.

But I am thankful for Jude. I am grateful to meet and get to know this completely unplanned, full of surprises, new human being that God had snatched from the jaws of death with medical interventions along the way.

getting some sun to lower his bilirubin level

very unexpectedly

He's here. Three weeks early.

I'll change the pregnancy ticker when I get around to it.

a stall in nesting

Every room in our apartment has more or less been re-organized with a general reformation of overall structure. But I'm not completely done or satisfied with the nitty-gritty, and yet it's kind of like I don't want it to be done because I'm mildly afraid of being left truly with nothing to do, twiddling my thumbs. This is a completely irrational fear, of course, but I find myself saving a few boxes here and there in each room that still needs to be sorted. Every time I start to approach them, however, I just want to lie down and take a big nap. Instead, I forage the fridge and read another book. 

Grr, I just need to suck it up. The floors need to be swept and mopped too. I do want to be ready, so I need to make it happen.

I have gained so much weight at this point (from my pre-pregnancy weight of 56kg to now 72kg) that I no longer obsess about it. It is an annoying gnat that buzzes by with the occasional memory and incoming anticipation of my OB's passing remarks about my over-abundant diet and all the comments I get while browsing at the traditional market. How is it that most Taiwanese women don't gain much weight at all during pregnancies? I feel like a mutant trying to qualify as a normal person.