Two years ago a phlebotomist came into my room at 5 am. She inserted a needle into the crease of my elbow like someone had once every few days for the last two weeks. I was amazed they were still able to find a vein. Nothing stands out about that particular needle stick. It melts together with all the rest of the early morning wake up calls that involved someone standing over me with a needle and vacutainer.
Here’s what I was doing six years ago from today. When this picture was taken my water had broken, but I didn’t know it yet.
Standing at the Intersection of Quirky and Weird
savor every moment?
subscribe to a the dishes can wait attitude?
find nature to be the best antidepressant?
Some days suck. Sometimes the house needs to be cleaned while the kids watch cartoons of questionable quality. And Zoloft? Yeah, I heart that shit.
I started blogging in the late 90s, back before blog was a word. Get off my lawn. I wrote mostly boring tidbits about my day that nobody save my mother would want to read. In 2015, after my son was born two months early I found my voice in writing the realities of the situation.
Turns out my voice says fuck a lot, and isn’t afraid to talk about mental illness.
Late in 2015 people started paying me to write words, and I assumed they had made a mistake, but figured I should cash in before anyone noticed.
So far my failure has continued to go undetected. My therapist and friends say it has something to do with talent, at which point I put my hands over my ears and hum repetitive tunes.
Despite an endless reserve of self deprecation I have managed to write for quite a few outlets, and was recently chosen to be part of the National Geographic Kids Insiders program.
What about you, Rhiannon?
I live in a solidly liberal bubble of North Carolina, which plays well with my life goal to avoid being burned at the stake.
I have long known I suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder, yet was 33 before I realized that means I have anxiety. Quite a bit of it, as it turns out.
I know all of the words to It's the End of the World as We Know It.
When I was 9 I was in an all-elementary production of Macbeth. When I was 17 I thought that meant I didn't need to read the play again for English class. I was mistaken.
My daughter, Lorelei, was born in 2010, and was a full term induction due to Cholestasis of Pregnancy. I like a full range of experiences so I went with partial abruption and severe Preeclampsia for my second pregnancy. Rowan was born in 2015 via an urgent c-section at 31 weeks and 5 days, and spent 40 days in the NICU.
Because my younger sister couldn't pronounce Rhiannon.
She has since learned.
You are all sorts of awesome, how can I virtually stalk you?
The first thing you should do, is go follow me on social media. I'll wait here.
Then you can always go check out my full online portfolio of freelance work.
What random internet strangers are saying
I wasn’t allowed to see him until after the mag was turned off. I was also not allowed to eat. Eventually I was at least allowed to have some sprite. At some point they helped me get from the bed to a chair. THAT was not fun. Not even a little fun.
I will give Duke credit, they were very onboard with trying an induction, and not jumping to c-section. Unfortunately Rowan was still sitting butt down, head up. So c-section it was. At the moment I was so so tired that I was resigned to this without too much internal struggle. They put yet another catheter in, and started the mag again. Around 8pm on the 28th I was wheeled down to the OR. They gave me the spinal block, which meant sitting on the edge of the table bent forward while they poked around next to my spine to find the perfect spot. Bonus was that the person who did it was clearly still learning, and they were maybe a little too eager about the fact that I have scoliosis. Listening to the head anesthesiologist explain to the person sticking needles in my back how to deal with the curvature, and listening to her discuss what she was feeling in my back was not really what I wanted at that moment. Then I felt like I was going to pass out. The nurse quickly braced me more carefully, and reminded me to breathe. Then it was done, and I was told to lie back. They shaved me, washed me, disinfected me, whatever the heck they were doing down there. Then I was told that the spinal was definitely working, because they just tested by poking me really hard, and that if it wasn’t working I would have jumped off the table.
It seemed like every few days something happened that made them start talking about delivery. But we would work it out with medications. Or they would be okay with whatever symptom because it was “just ____.” I was wondering how many “just” whatevers we could stack together before the pendulum swung. I had had headaches off and on that could be explained a million ways, but were making us all nervous. But they would eventually go away. I was never under any assumption that we would make it to 34 weeks. In my head I made 32 weeks my goal.