I had reached that point in the relationship when I was ready to get married and have his babies.

But mercy!  You can’t just come out and say that to a 20 year-old college boy!

Talk about the top ten things you don’t say to your boyfriend!

Seriously though, I couldn’t live without him.

He was perfect for me.

He was everything I was not.

He was spontaneous, bold, and logical.

He was an ambitious dreamer.

He was confident…and unafraid to take the road less traveled.

But we were still in college.

Surely too young to make any kind of serious commitment.

Besides…what was really going on inside that head of his?

Perhaps his feelings didn’t run as deeply as mine.

Perhaps I had misread him.

I mean he said he cared.  And his actions certainly demonstrated affection.

But he hadn’t really shouted it from the rooftops…or talked about the future.

And I…the mushy, sentimental, romantic…had been holding back a bit.

Trying not to pressure him too much with 14-line sonnets.

But I did in fact love him.

And there it was.  There was no denying it.

I longed only to know how fully my love for him would be reciprocated.

So I made the 2 1/2 hour drive to Wanaque, New Jersey, with happy songs blasting from mediocre speakers.

I would bring in the New Year of 1994 with Duff and his family.  There would be champagne and kielbasa, according to tradition.

I arrived at Duff’s childhood home.  He greeted me at the door, the chill of late December ushering me inside that warm, cozy house.

My memories grow a bit fuzzy here.

I recall his sister Colleen beaming at me, with a knowing smile, from the kitchen.

He led me downstairs to the bedroom, which offered privacy, closing the door behind me.  He suggested I sit on the one twin-size bed at the end of the room, while he began pacing.  He looked nervous.  But why?

He began to explain his struggle to find me the perfect Christmas gift.

And how “everything else” seemed stupid- earrings, necklaces, bracelets, flowers.

He told me…

“I’m done looking.”

“You’re it.  You’re the one.”

“I’m not messing around.”

“I’m in this for the long haul.”

“Forever.”

He was ready to make a commitment.

I opened the festively wrapped package that he placed in my hands.

Lifting the hinged cover of a jewelry box, I discovered a small diamond solitaire ring.

He explained how he didn’t have enough money for a “real ring”, but wanted me to know his intentions.

He searched my face for feedback, still flushed with excitement.

I proudly slipped the ring onto my finger.

It was real.  Real!

His words mirrored everything I had felt but was afraid to share.

He gathered me into his strong arms and held me, emphasizing the importance of this moment, before we once again faced the outside world.

And they speculated that we were secretly engaged.

They looked suspiciously at, what was now being referred to as, “the promise ring”.

They commented that it looked an awful lot like a “poor man’s engagement ring”.

I clarified…it was a ring to show Duff’s intentions.

Intentions for what?

Intentions to build a future together.

It was November of 1993. I hopped onto the stairmaster at the gym for my afternoon workout. My legs felt noticeably weak. I wrote it off as one of those days when you initially feel fatigued. I just needed to push through. Get warmed up a little. But I barely finished my routine and headed back to my dorm, legs still terribly heavy. Later that evening, my throat grew sore. I peeked in the mirror to discover a few white spots on my tonsils. Clearly I had strep throat.

I considered the possibility that I might need to visit the infirmary come morning. Perhaps get a rapid strep test done and pick-up some antibiotics. The sun came up, and I could scarcely swallow. I scooted into the bathroom and visited, my friend, the mirror.

Horror.

My throat had exploded over night into a swollen mess of infection, like nothing I had ever seen before. I could hardly swallow my own saliva, never mind eat. (And that’s saying a whole lot about my condition at that moment.;)

Off I went, in search of medical attention.

I really can’t recall if Duff accompanied me or not. But I’m pretty sure he did. He’s just that kind of guy. You know, the good kind.

The doctor gasped at the sight of my tonsils and gave them a good swab. He felt my glands, noted my elevated temperature, and ran a quick blood test.

I left the infirmary with an envelope full of steroids, a note excusing me from my upcoming mid-terms, and instructions to get plenty of rest.

I had infectious mononucleosis, more commonly known as the kissing disease. You can imagine I caught a lot of flack about this one.

But it is in moments of need, when the character of a friend is fully revealed.

And I was pretty much in the middle of a whole lot of needy, sick, “not fun” moments.

And he served me, catering to my every need.

He brought me drinks and drugs.

He procured ice cream.

He snuggled with me and watched movies.

He stayed home with his girlfriend…

AND acted like he didn’t mind at all.

Now you might think it was my feminine allure that was responsible for his behavior over those couple of weeks.

But then you’re probably not too familiar with the ugly side effects of steroids.

‘Moon face’.

Does it ring any bells?

Aptly named, because your face puffs up until your cheeks resemble those of a chipmunk.

So you can imagine, I was looking quite adorable during this time.

And insomnia?!

Like I’ve never experienced.

So here I was supposed to be getting lots of rest, and instead my body was revving at full-speed all night long.

It wasn’t surprising, as Thanksgiving break quickly approached, that I still hadn’t kicked this thing.

And we had plans.

I was supposed to take the Greyhound Bus home with Duff to New Jersey.
We would spend the holiday with his family and I would meet his relatives for the first time.

I explained to Duff how I couldn’t possibly go:

I’m sick.
I’m potentially contagious.
I wouldn’t make a good impression showing up ill.

He insisted.
“Just don’t be kissing anybody.” I can imagine him saying.

He must have been pretty persuasive back then, and I must have been some kind of looney…

because I went.

I packed my bags with all the essentials, despite my reservations.

Chloraseptic throat spray? Check.

Cepacol throat lozenges? Check.

Advil? Yup.

Prednisone? Got it.

Something slimming, to offset my extra-plump face? It will have to do.

We headed out to the nearest Greyhound bus station and settled down in a pair of cozy seats for the four-hour ride.

Have you ever met someone you’d tag along with to the garbage dump, just for the opportunity to chat?

That was Duff for me.

In between spraying my throat with cherry flavored Chloraseptic, we had delightful conversation, snuggled, and caught a snooze or two.

It wasn’t long before we arrived in ‘The Garden State’.

I thought Duff’s family was adorable from the first time I met them. His dad was entertaining and funny. His mom was just as sweet, kind, and loving, as she could be. His sisters were the nicest, and immediately treated me like part of the family. His little brother Russ was charming and more subdued. And his Nanny, well she was simply precious.

I stayed in the downstair’s bedroom which had apparently been painted red after Duff left the nest.
The aromas that drifted from the kitchen, down the staircase, and into my room, were intense.
They left my stomach growling. Duff’s mom was busy preparing everything Thanksgiving.

Tomorrow, Duff’s aunts, uncles, and cousins would arrive to partake in a feast of turkey, sausage stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes, gravy, cheesecake,…the list went on.

And with each passing hour, I seemed to be feeling worse.

Thanksgiving Day was a little awkward. I managed to greet his relatives from a ‘safe’ distance so as not to contaminate them, all the while sensing their apprehension in getting too close to me. They all seemed really nice, and though I enjoyed visiting with them, I belonged in bed. My throat had worsened, so that eating had grown all but impossible, and the food spread across the table, served only to torment my angry stomach. I disappeared downstairs after dinner to lay down and rest. Duff would come in and out of my room throughout the evening to visit. Dessert time came and I was forced to turn down cheesecake. I was perplexed. Why was I getting worse instead of better?

Friday morning arrived and Duff’s mom insisted on calling her family doctor to see if she could get me in for a visit. She scheduled
an appointment with Dr. Mudry and then drove me in to his office. (If Duff hadn’t yet made an impression on me, well I knew I had to have this woman as my mother-in-law!)

The doc diagnosed me with a secondary bacterial infection. He prescribed antibiotics, took me off the steroids, and put me on Codeine for the pain. Off we drove to the pharmacy to pick up the precious drugs. One hour after popping the pain killers, I felt like a new woman. I gorged my starving-self with some Burger King. By the following day, I found myself raiding the fridge for leftovers. An extra-large helping of sausage stuffing, followed by a generous slice of oreo-crusted cheesecake, left me speechless. This woman could cook.

My visit ended, and I felt so loved and foolish all at the same time. We carried a brown bag aboard that Greyhound bus, carefully packed by Duff’s momma. It contained her famous chicken casserole, which we would devour, from a disposable container, with two plastic forks, on our way back to Boston.

This kissing disease, I had it bad, because I had been bitten by the love bug, from which there is no cure.

I had pretty much wanted children my whole life, back as far as I could remember.

I was the neighborhood babysitter, the nanny, the girl who dressed up as a pregnant nerd one Halloween. (No, I’m not kidding.)

I loved kids. I was drawn to them.

I loved their honesty, their energy, their imaginations, and their lack of social etiquette.

Kids were so refreshing.

Kids were raw.

There was nothing to figure out about them. That’s what I liked most.

I never questioned or wondered if I would have kids, it was only a matter of when.

I wanted at least three children, maybe more.

I had always envisioned myself with many kids, but people warned me that I would change my mind after I had a couple.

When we tied the knot, Duff wanted two…maybe three children. And he definitely hoped to wait a few years.

“Maybe when we’re about thirty.” he would suggest.

Our first baby came in the form of a yellow labrador retriever named Murph.

Murphy taught us all about responsibility.

Potty training.

Sleepless nights.

Play dates.

Vet appointments.

Destruction. (carpets, shoes, boxsprings,…)

Honestly, in the first 6 months of his life, we found ourselves at a class for strong-willed pups. I’m totally serious.

It turns out, if you give your pup a good nip on his muzzle, he will totally respect you.

Murphy quickly outgrew the weight limit in our apartment complex and it wasn’t long before we purchased our first home.

The house was in a small neighborhood in Northeast Raleigh.

It was the cutest neighborhood, full of young couples and adorable children.

Everywhere I looked…there were soft, chubby babies.

Oh, how I wanted a baby!

But…

I was in nursing school and I really wanted to finish the program before starting a family.

I just needed something to fill this baby void.

Something to distract me.

Sooo, I came home one day with the ingenious idea that we should adopt a dog from the local shelter.

I visited the shelter first, with a friend, to check out our options.

I came home with the perfect pooch in mind.

I mean if one dog is good, then two are better. Right?

Duff however, did not really go for the shelter idea.

The flea-infested mutt that I introduced him to…ummm, let’s just say she did not win his heart.

He didn’t want to get an unpredictable older dog that might not be good around children.

He wanted to get a predictable breed of dog from a reputable breeder.

That’s how we ended up with our second child…

(The above pic is not actually of Bella, but a look-a-like.)

She was just beautiful!

She was affectionate.

She was loyal.

She was intense.

She was mischievous.

But…

She was NOT a baby.

It was now the fall of 1998.

We had been married almost two years.

I was in my final semester of nursing school and Duff was working as a consultant making software.

It was then that we had a little “scare”.

I was secretly disappointed by the outcome. The idea of a baby really had me sooo excited.

But, I didn’t want to pressure Duff into having kids before he was ready.

And besides, I really did need to finish school first.

A couple of weeks later, Duff and I were having a deep philosophical conversation. (Imagine that! )

It began with the question-

“If you died tomorrow what would you regret the most?”

There was no hesitation or need to reflect on my part. I just blurted it out.

“Not having had a child. I would be sooo sad and disappointed. It’s what I want more than anything.”

“Really. I had no idea it was that important to you. Well let’s get started then!” Duff decided.

Two weeks later, we headed out with Murph and Bella, to meet friends at the park for a doggy play date.

It was my normal routine to grab a large mug of coffee with cream and sugar for my breakfast and not really eat anything until lunch time.

On this particular day, as we left the park late morning, I was unusually ravenous.

We were driving home, and I was feeling a bit green.

I attributed my nausea to lack of food.

The following day, I again felt slightly nauseous.

The sensation of having anything around my neck, made me ill.

I was a day late, so we thought perhaps a pregnancy test was in order.

After a quick trip to the pharmacy, we came home and tore open the package.

Wow. We were nervous.

This is that crazy moment that you watch in movies.

That silly moment you laugh about on sitcoms.

But this was OUR moment, and we had to figure out how to proceed.

We needed a plan.

Okay. It was decided.

I would pee on the stick, leave it on the counter to “develop”, and then we would come back into the bathroom together to read the results.

The stick was saturated in urine, and we now stood in the kitchen waiting for the prescribed amount of time to elapse.

My stomach was all butterflies. My head was dizzy with possibility.

We stared wide-eyed at each other, smirks at the corners of our mouths.

The timer beeped.

It was time.

We walked down the hallway wondering, if our lives were about to be forever-changed.

We arrived at the doorway and struggled to position ourselves so that we would enter the little bathroom at exactly the same moment.

“Now what am I looking for?” Duff clarified.

“Two lines means pregnant.”

“Okay, because I just want to make sure I’m reading the results correctly.” he explained.

“Go!”

We busted into the bathroom and there before us, our fate lay clearly written.

Two pink lines.

I immediately had images of a swollen belly and a sweet chubby baby.

Duff on the other hand…

well his head seemed to go straight to the finances.

Now I had always imagined pregnancy as a time when you feel great and walk around wearing a healthy glow.

I had never really entertained the idea that I might experience all day nausea.

It began in November.

I don’t believe pregnancy hormones and the stress of my final months of nursing school, really mixed that well.

Picture me driving to Rex hospital before sun-up, in my little blue Toyota Corolla.

Picture me holding a gallon Ziploc, and somehow managing to shift gears between the cycles of heaving.

Okay, sorry about that. Not pretty. I know.

Not what I had expected, that’s for sure.

It was during this time, that I found myself declaring that this baby would most certainly be an only child.

Have I mentioned that we were the young ignorant couple yet?

Well we most certainly were!

We found this out when we called BCBS to add maternity coverage to my plan.

Preexisting?

Really.

It appeared that if I wanted to get maternity coverage for this pregnancy and birth, I needed to let BCBS know before I became pregnant.

Who knew!

Since it was too late for that nonsense, I needed to find myself a job.

I finished nursing school in December, passed my boards in January, and began looking for my first job as a nurse come February.

About this time, I was beginning to feel a whole lot better. I was 4 months pregnant.

I had always loved the cardiovascular system, so I decided to apply for a position on the cardiac floor at WakeMed.

When I went for my interview with the floor manager, I still wasn’t showing.

When she expressed her interest in hiring me, I decided to be very open about my present “condition”. I didn’t want to surprise her in another month when I would surely begin growing by leaps and bounds.

She was unphased by my news and wanted me to start right away.

It looked like I had my first job as a registered nurse.

The stress of being a nurse began on day number one. I was receiving report, when my patient’s cardiac monitor began alarming. I rushed into the room to find him coding. After trying to resuscitate the man, for what seemed like hours, I had my first dead patient.

Yup, I was pretty sure I had picked the wrong career.

Meanwhile, Duff and I were very excited to have baby’s very first ultrasound at 18 weeks. We could not, for the life of us, decide whether or not to find out the gender.

We went back and forth, wracked with indecision, until finally the technician tired of our antics.

She handed us an envelope with the answer written inside.

As if this envelope is going to stay sealed for the next 4 months!

We got as far as the building’s lobby before ripping the envelope open and reading the words “It’s a Girl!”. Woohoo!

We knew immediately this child would be named Madeline, after my paternal grandmother, affectionately known as “Grammy”.

After all, naming our first-born daughter Madeline was pretty much part of our pre-marital contract. Pretty much.;)

Working 12 hour shifts was great, because it meant I had more days off. But as my due date of July 19th approached, my ankles would swell from the long hours spent on my feet and I would return home and collapse onto the couch.

On one particular morning, after returning home from working the graveyard shift, the freakiest thing happened.

I was on my way to the bathroom and the alien child in my stomach suddenly turned so that she was sticking straight out.
I woke Duff up screeching, pointing at the unnatural contours of my stomach. He witnessed the flip, so I knew I hadn’t imagined things, when she just as quickly flipped back to a more normal position.

The following week however, I began to have a lot of cervical pressure.

An ultrasound revealed that baby had assumed a footling breech position, with only 2 weeks remaining until my due date.

The obstetrician recommended we proceed with a version (attempt to externally flip baby) or schedule a cesarean. My medical brain went into overdrive. All I could remember from nursing school was- full-term breech baby is a red flag for anomalies.

Microcephaly, anencephaly, chromosomal abnormalities…

my brain scoured medical textbooks as I sat in my OB’s office.

The doctor reassured me.

I asked about the risks of version vs. cesarean. I feared all the unknowns.

I was not a believer. There was no higher being in my life. The fate of this child rested entirely on my shoulders, and so I chose what we were told was the safest choice.

We scheduled a cesarean for the morning of July 15, 1999.

My mom, dad, brother, and sister-in-law, we’re all in town for the big day.

Duff and I arrived at Rex Birthing Center early in the morning, so excited to meet our daughter.

They stuck us in a labor and delivery room to complete paperwork and prepare me for surgery.

Duff was a bit jittery that day and found himself being scolded by my nurse before long, for bouncing around on the birthing ball and performing various acrobatic tricks.

We headed down to the OR where Dr. Pritchett and Dr. Buckley were prepped for my routine cesarean.

Baby girl was safely delivered and looked perfect, aside from her one foot, which appeared to have a positional deformity from her footling breech presentation. The doctors assured us this would most likely resolve on its own.

Baby was whisked away to the nursery, and Duff quickly followed to keep her safe. Honestly, he had seen one too many of those “Baby gets swapped at birth” movies, because his overprotective ways were in full swing.

It was then that my shoulder pain commenced. Moderate right shoulder pain. It was intense enough that I mentioned it to the nurse anesthetist, who quickly assured me that I was probably experiencing some referred pain.

He instructed me to let him know if it worsened and before he could finish his sentence, I was writhing in excruciating pain. Only I couldn’t really twist or squirm, because I was strapped to the table and completely numb from the chest down.

Staff rushed into the operating room. My heart rate and BP were falling.

They opened my lines wide.

The anesthesiologist grilled the nurse anesthetist with questions.

He listened with his stethoscope and discovered a harsh systolic murmur.

His conclusion- an air embolus had entered my uterine vein and traveled into my heart.

The OR staff called for a bed in the ICU but later stabilized me enough for transport to the regular PACU.

I was instructed to remain flat for the next 12 hours to allow the air to dissipate.

I would need to remain in post-anesthesia care for longer than anticipated, until my vitals returned to a more normal range.

Picture an already frantic first-time father, and now add an air embolus to his plate.

He headed back upstairs to inform my family about the latest news.

Instead of “embolus’, the word “aneurysm” tumbled forth out of his mouth.

The untrained, lay person would have asked for further explanation, but when my mother, the registered nurse, heard “aneurysm”, she flipped. Mixed messages abounded that day and emotions flew high.

When I finally made it back to the labor and delivery floor, we had one hungry baby girl on our hands.

I held her in my arms for the very first time.

She was just beautiful.

She had a small amount of dark hair.

Her skin was deeper toned than I had expected, with a radiant pink glow.

Her grey eyes were almond shaped and very bright and alert.

She looked right into my eyes and studied me.

I was completely in love.

Happy Birthday, Madeline Rose O’Melia!

Junior year at Boston College began for us in the fall of 1993 with all of our money pooled together in a joint bank account. The morning air grew crisper and the trees around campus began to turn breathtaking shades of yellow, orange, and red.

Autumn was my very favorite time of year. I loved walking across campus in just a sweater and jeans, sun warming away the slight chill. I delighted in the deep blue sky of autumn, a backdrop for the leaves twirling and dancing their way to the ground. I had a bounce in my step and a flutter in my stomach. I was unspeakably happy and content.

I had recently switched my major from biology to psychology, with a concentration in neuroscience. I was really beginning to enjoy most of my courses and I had fallen into a nice routine that school year. I had morning classes, work in the afternoon, and I’d hit the gym before dinner. Evenings included study time and heading to the dining hall with a group of friends, grabbing Roly Poly, or making a late night ice cream run to White Mountain Creamery. Evenings included Duff. Evenings were my favorite.

Fall at Boston College meant football season, which brought crowds of people swarming to the campus on weekends for tailgating and games. It meant drinking often commenced before noon and continued on into the night. Sunday, was simply a day to recover from Friday and Saturday. Duff and I began to question the meaning of it all.

Why go out to a crowded bar on a Friday night, when we could stay home and watch a movie?

Why attend yet another keg party of intoxicated foolishness, when we could stay behind and prepare a meal?

Why fight the crowds to get in and out of the stadium, if we could watch the game from the comfort of our living room?

Why brave the elements, when we could sit on a warm cozy couch with chips, dip, and good beer?

We didn’t care that we had pre-paid tickets…

That football season, we chose to watch many of the home games on television, from Duff’s dorm room, not 100 yards from the stadium.

Yes, I believe some of our friends were concerned.

Perhaps baffled is a more accurate description.

They couldn’t comprehend where we were coming from. Didn’t really get that we just wanted to be together. Couldn’t fathom that we were done with the dance and had found that person. The one you curiously daydream about for years– trying to catch a glimpse of their face, wondering about the color of their eyes, the sound of their voice, and the things you’ll share.

They wrote it off as a phase, I’m sure.

The “fairytale phase”…

Those first 6 to 12 blissful months in a relationship when people behave like lovesick puppies.

They subsequently cut us some slack, and stood by waiting for differences to surface. They waited for the minor annoyances to emerge. They expected a few core issues to arise.

But they never expected to return to the dormitory one Saturday evening, pleasantly buzzing, to find Duff and Kelly cooking cornish game hens in orange sauce.

This was just too much for them. Too out there. They smiled and shook their heads, truly dumbfounded, all the while drooling over the delicious smells that lingered in the air.

They struggled to put their impression of us into words,

“You just….

“You don’t…

“You’re like…

We reminded them of an old married couple.

We were the pathetic elderly couple that was missing out on their “college experience”.

We were “Gram and Gramps”…

from henceforth.

It was Christmas time in the year 2000. Auntie Colleen was visiting and we were heading home from Jumpin’ Jupiters, an indoor playspace that Maddie loved to frequent. I suspected I might be pregnant and just had to know. I suggested we stop by a store on the way home and grab a pregnancy test. I wasted no time, and in minutes we were celebrating two pink lines.

My parents and siblings would be arriving any day, with a car full of parcels, to celebrate Christmas. We considered how we would share the news. Let’s present it as a gift, we decided. Without hesitation, we agreed who the recipient of this special package must be…my dad. Pop had a history of opening gifts that confused him. Gifts he didn’t comprehend. Gifts he was sure, he had mistakenly received. We had enjoyed many tear jerking laughs before, when my Dad, with a half opened gift in his lap, had ever so discretely attempted to identify the correct recipient. Only to find out, the gift was indeed intended for him.

The pregnancy test would be perfect! There was no way he’d be familiar with the appearance of such a gadget. I giggled, just imagining the look of confusion on his face. We placed the package, tagged with his name and wrapped with anticipation, under the tree.

Pop did not disappoint. He ripped open the paper and lifted the box lid. He turned to Mimi, with eyebrows knit together, for some sort of explanation. My mom looked up with immediate recognition on her face and exclaimed, “You’re pregnant?!”

It really wasn’t long before the nausea, hunger, and fatigue set in. This was very reassuring, because I had miscarried only a few months earlier, after feeling very little morning sickness.

Our house in Raleigh was on the market and sold in the first few weeks of the New Year. We were looking to find a new place with a bit more space and closer to Duff’s work. We moved to Apex and rented a home while we continued looking for something to buy. We eventually found a neighborhood we liked and began building a home that would be completed about 2 months after the baby’s birth.

My prenatal appointments were going well and everything looked fine. Baby was growing and developing perfectly. We decided not to find out the gender at our ultrasound and looked forward to being surprised this time around.

I had undergone a cesarean with my first, due to a footling breech presentation. When I miscarried the subsequent pregnancy and began researching more about the long-term consequences of cesarean, I realized I really wanted a natural childbirth. I spent hours and hours researching VBAC. I read all about the Bradley Method. I considered hiring a doula but was discouraged from doing so by my obstetrician. “They create love triangles in the delivery room”, she had warned. (Yes, I actually believed this! Bah-hahaha)

I paid close attention to what I ate and exercised regularly. I developed my birth plan which involved as little intervention as possible. I wanted to avoid narcotics, epidurals, pitocin, and AROM (artificial rupture of membranes). All of these things could decrease my chances of delivering naturally.

I was due at the beginning of September. On September 4th, I began showing signs of impending labor. I called my Mom and Dad to let them know, and they began the long drive South that evening. They drove through the night and arrived early on the morning of Sept. 5th. I was having contractions off and on but nothing very regular or strong yet. My parents tried to nap a little and by the afternoon my contractions were growing more regular. Dinner time approached, and I felt it was time to head out. We grabbed our bags, leaving Maddie behind with Mimi and Pop.

When Duff gets behind the wheel to drive, he often discovers he’s tired or hungry, and this time was no exception. He suggested we stop to get a bite to eat. I really wasn’t up for eating. We stopped at Whole Foods and Duff picked up some yumminess while I walked around the store breathing through contractions.
Satisfied with his selections, we continued on to Rex Hospital.

Now I knew I was only in the early stages of labor, but I really didn’t want to wait until the last possible moment and experience the adrenaline rush of a mad dash to the hospital. We parked the car in the garage, grabbed our bags, and headed up to the Labor and Delivery floor. After checking in at the main desk, we were shown to a room and the admission process began. They drew blood samples, filled out paperwork, and got me settled. It wasn’t long before the doctor on call checked in on us.

He seemed like a nice enough obstetrician, and then I handed him my typed up birth plan. He quickly perused it, sort of laughing to himself as he did so.

“What?” I inquired.

“Well, it’s just that this is all nice on paper and all. But the fact of the matter is, you’re attempting a VBAC. And unless you adhere to the timeline, intervention is going to be required.”

I couldn’t believe it! My entire pregnancy, all of the doctors had been so encouraging. So supportive. And now I’m in labor and he’s changing his tune?? How dare he just throw my birth plan out the window! I was livid!

I attempted to reiterate how intervention would just complicate matters and reduce my likelihood of delivering naturally.

“Well, then what are you here for??” He wondered out loud, “If you don’t want intervention, then you should go home.”

That was it!! This man was impossible!!! There was no way I was staying in this hospital to have my baby. We gathered our things, got our discharge papers, and were on our way.

But where exactly were we headed?

We had no idea.

And my, these contractions were getting stronger.

I was hurting. This was intense.

I was having trouble thinking clearly.

And I was STARVING!

“Duff, I need food! I’m famished! Let’s drive down the road and find me some food.”

We jumped in the car and began scoping out some places.

Everything was closed.

“I need to get out of this car. I can’t be in this car! This car is killing me!”

“Well what do you want me to do?”

“Just take me to a hotel or something! Somewhere peaceful, where I can be left alone. I am not going back to that hospital!”

“You want ME to deliver this baby?! I can’t just bring you off to some hotel. I have no idea what I’m doing!”

The argument went back and forth, back and forth, into the wee hours of the morning as we tried to come up with a plan.

“I’m taking you back in there. We have no other choice.”

And so back into Rex Hospital we went.

We were readmitted.

Paper work was redone.

Blood redrawn.

And we settled into the hospital room waiting for the doctor…

A new doctor.

Because, as we learned upon readmission, the 24 hour on-call period had ended, and now my very favorite OB was covering the floor.

Hooray!

Dr. P entered the room, she was caring and kind. She reassured me that the baby’s heart rate was looking good and explained that she’d be watching the monitors and would regularly come by to check my progress. It was approaching 7 am on the morning of September 6th.

I was having agonizing back labor. I couldn’t speak, move, or have a coherent thought, throughout each contraction. We tried the shower, we tried walking, we tried intense counter pressure for hours. Nothing was helping.

And then my doctor would come in and do a cervical check and explain that there was little to no progress. Talk about discouraging!

I didn’t know how much longer I could last. This was insane!

And the thought that kept entering my mind throughout all of this was- Be the sheep? Ha! What a load of crap!

You see the Bradley method is supposedly based on a man’s observations of watching animals birth their young. They don’t fight the contractions. They go off alone, to a quiet place, relax, and allow their body to respond to the contractions. The more relaxed you are, the more productive the contractions will be, thus dilating your cervix.

But I was in sooo much pain, I couldn’t possibly relax!

Dr. P was becoming more concerned by lunchtime that my progress had been so minimal. I was still only 2-3cm. She shared that my cervix was beginning to swell from being in hard labor when the baby’s head was not well engaged. She suggested I try getting an epidural.

“Sometimes an epidural, in cases like this, can be helpful. It will allow you to relax which may hasten your progress.”

I couldn’t resist the dangling carrot any longer.

The epidural took affect and I rested my eyes for the first time in hours; Duff falling fast asleep in the chair beside me.

We had those few peaceful moments before my doctor hurried back into the room.

“You’re having late decelerations, Kelly. We need to turn you onto your side.”

After several attempts to restore the baby’s heart rate to a more reassuring pattern, an emergency cesarean was recommended. Late decels can mean baby isn’t getting enough oxygen. They slapped oxygen over my face, gave me a pen to sign the consent, and whisked us off to the OR.

It wasn’t long before Duff leaned down near my face to report,”It’s a boy!” I saw a tear trickle down his cheek. He was in complete awe of God’s perfect creation. Miraculous. Truly miraculous.

The baby was posterior(sunny-side up) and had a triple nuchal cord (umbilical cord wrapped 3 times around his neck).

This probably explained why his head wasn’t engaging and my failure to progress.

He was also a rather large baby, weighing in at 8lbs13oz.

He had fair skin, blonde peach fuzz for hair, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.

He was absolutely perfect. The sweetest little thing, with a deep husky cry.

Happy Birthday, Gavin Matthew O’Melia!

As the spring semester of our Sophomore year came to a close, we decided we couldn’t spend the summer apart. We began searching for inexpensive summer sublets in Boston. While we would have loved to find a cute little apartment for the two of us, I was troubled by the obvious potential for upsetting our families.* We decided on separate apartments, just across the street from each other, on Commonwealth Ave. Now we just needed summer jobs to pay for rent, grub, and leisure.

I planned to continue working at the School of Nursing, where I had worked throughout the school year. The pay wasn’t great but I liked the people and it was convenient. Picture me riding my red Huffy ten-speed along Commomwealth Ave. towards Boston College. I would jump off my bike, lock it up in front of the gym, and race up the longest set of continuous stairs ever. I would arrive for my office job doing clerical work, gasping for breath. The girls I worked with would ask all about “my man” and beg to meet him. I took Calculus that summer and conveniently had Duff available as my private tutor. It still baffles me to this day, how he made sense of it all! (The Calculus, that is!)

Even then, Duff was never satisfied with mediocrity. He found a job working in downtown Boston for triple what I was making on campus. He bought some nicer clothes and traveled into Boston everyday on the ‘T’. Duff loved being able to read a good book as he rode to and from work. He loved exploring downtown on his lunch breaks and trying different ethnic foods. He often did a little shopping as well, and would come home with interesting purchases. I can remember him arriving home one day, hiding behind a giant bouquet of roses. He really was the sweetest.;)

The summer of ’93 was a fairytale summer in so many ways. We spent every moment we could together. Grocery shopping that summer was an adventure. We weren’t conveniently located near any grocery store. So we would hop on the ‘T’ and head up a few stops to the closest Star Market. We had to walk a few blocks from the train stop to get our goods. This was fine going out, but coming home we would be trying to carry a month’s worth of groceries. Our fingers would lose sensation and turn white from the plastic bags pressing into our hands. We’d run, trying to make it those couple of blocks without stopping, and stumble onto the train dropping a circle of bags to the floor. Why we didn’t purchase a little cart is beyond me! Either we were too poor or we enjoyed the challenge.

Cooking meals was very fun back then! We loved preparing delicious food and eating it together, at the little table made for two in Duff’s apartment. Now cleaning up the mess was another story. There was no dishwasher and neither one of us really enjoyed doing the dishes. When the pile would rise in a mound above the sides of the sink, we would head out to the bowling alley. We would wager everything. The stakes? The contents of the kitchen sink.

Back then, it turns out, I was a better bowler than Duff. I would start out with a bang, always winning the first few games. Then he would offer to buy me a beer…and the tides would slowly turn, as I sipped away at my golden frothy beverage. Before long, I’d earned the privilege of tackling the mountain of dishes solo. Oh sure, I’d try to pout and look pathetic so he would feel inclined to help, but it never worked. He really enjoyed watching me do those dishes. Every last one of them.

Exploring the city together was another fun thing we did that summer. We’d jump on the ‘T’ and head for nowhere or anywhere, never really having a specific plan. One day in particular, I can remember the two of us standing at a stop along the Green Line waiting for the next train to come along. We were having a conversation. Apparently a very interesting conversation. With Duff, you never talk about the weather.;) And so we stood there for 40 minutes, chattering away, before either of us realized the line was closed. We were just oblivious. So dern happy in that bubble of ours.:)

We snuggled on the couch and watched movies. We bought tickets to see Miss Saigon. We enjoyed an evening dinner cruise aboard the Odyssey. But the event that really clinched it for me that summer, was when we went to see “Sleepless in Seattle” at a theatre in Chestnut Hill. I can recall that day so vividly. Sitting in the dark theatre, holding my boyfriend’s hand while watching that adorable romantic comedy. And as the credits began to roll there was no doubt in my mind; I was Duff’s Meg Ryan and Duff was my Tom Hanks. We were meant for each other.

Now, hmmmmm (we brainstormed)…how to show the world our commitment toward each other?

Why, of course!

The ultimate step toward togetherness…

A Joint bank account.

And off to Bay Bank of Boston we headed…

*NOT Christians at this point. Not even familiar with the word…fornication.

We started off by trying out the Great Pumpkin Jump which is a HUGE 2500 square foot jumping pillow. Duff and the 4 oldest loved it but it was a little too much for Gab and Makinley.

But that didn’t stop them from having a good time!

Next came the giant sling shots in which you attempt to hurl tennis balls at hanging targets.

The older kids loved running at top speed through the corn maze and trying to find each other. The youngest two just kind of meandered along.

Then it was off to the corn crib where everyone enjoyed “swimming” in the corn!

The 80 foot underground slide was fun!

While waiting for the kids to emerge from the slide we spotted a brand new foal.

The train at Vollmer Farm called the “Udder Run”, caught our kids attention!

Duff made the mediocre zip line super fun by pushing the kids at top speed!

Everyone LOVED Bernie the calf! So friendly and affectionate!

Then it was time to head out.

Such a blessing to spend time together as a family!

She is now 18 months old and a little mama in training to be sure!

Always toting an armful of dolls around and loving’ on them.

Occasionally she’ll invite Luke to play “the daddy”.

She dons her sunglasses before running out,

straps the babies in, and off she goes to run her errands, often with a little purse in the crook of her arm.

She feeds her babies,

pats their backs,

makes them comfortable,

and coddles them.

Always playing the part of the perfect doting mommy until…..

something more interesting comes up,

then she hastily throws her “babies” to the floor and runs to take part in the fun!

Duff and I decided without a doubt we wanted to be together. I gradually became convinced that everyone would see the big picture. We were all adults. We wouldn’t be in college forever. We wouldn’t be bound to this group of friends for much longer. If Duff and I were destined to be a couple and live “happily ever after” it was worth the short term awkwardness. I figured we would give everyone a little time to digest the news of the recent break up before going public with our status.

We began with the best of intentions. We would limit our time together. We would play it cool for a while and hang out with friends. Get absorbed in our school work.

Yet I knew Duff’s schedule and where I could “bump” into him. I new exactly when he would be leaving one building to cut across campus for his next class or where he usually ate lunch on Wednesdays. So we found ourselves meeting up for lunch, running into each other at the library, and hanging out at the computer lab. These secret rendezvous became more frequent and we discovered people were beginning to track our whereabouts, follow us places, and ultimately question our integrity.

Mike became angered, saddened, and bothered by the entire thing. He moved out of the quad he had shared with Duff and two other guys with only two months remaining in the spring semester. Mike confronted Duff late one night with a group of intoxicated friends wanting to fight and a restraining order was set in place. Friends wondered, “How can you do this to Mike?” Rifts formed, people took sides, and I hoped that one day everyone would come to an understanding.

To escape the scrutiny, the planning for our encounters grew more involved. It was March now, Duff’s birthday weekend, and we devised a scheme to be together. We each had a friend off campus cover for us and we met a few stops away from college at the T- station . We traveled the remainder of the way into Boston together where we playfully wandered about shopping and eating, fully enjoying the freedom to be in each others company. We ate dinner at Legal Seafoods that night where we dined on creamy chowder and buttery seafood dishes accompanied by full-bodied red wine. There we sat completely absorbed by one another, the world around us fading into a blur. Fulfilled entirely by the person sitting across the table.

Do you remember the Atlantic Starr hit from the 80′s, “Secret Lovers“?

Here we are, the two of us together

Takin’ this crazy chance to be all alone

We both know that we should not be together

‘Cause if we’re found out, it could mess up

Both our happy home

Secret lovers, yeah, that’s what we are

We should not be together

But we can’t let go, no, no

‘Cause we love each other so

This became our theme song. Anywhere we could go, to be alone together as a couple, attracted our attention. We took off for the North End of Boston to share Italian food one night and met on campus the next. My birthday approached in April and Duff went shopping for a special gift. He chose a delicate gold necklace with a pearl and diamond pendant. He presented it to me on my birthday, took me in his arms, and shared that he was done masquerading. From this day forward he would introduce me to the world as his girlfriend.

If you’re challenged in the planning area but thrive on spontaneity (like us) then you may want to purchase the annual membership for $59.00 because that’s about what you’ll end up paying for the day. This membership works for many other children’s museums and aquariums across the country.

Once Duff and I got over the fact that we missed out on the homeschool discount, we had a blast! We were a little nervous initially when after visiting our third habitat of the day we still hadn’t seen a live animal. But after the slow start we made out really well. We saw monkeys, bears, elephants, giraffes, seals, and we even ran into our friend Anne and her children by the buffalo!

The kids never tired of traipsing around from habitat to habitat.

Wish I could say the same about Duff:)

If your familiar with the NC Zoo you’ll agree with our friend Margaret,” it’s kinder to the animals than it is to the people!” You get some serious exercise! Makinley and Gabrielle walked at least 75% of the time which amazed me.

The kids LOVED cooling off at the misting station in Africa.

After lunch we spent some time in the Kidzone where Gabby and Makinley had a ball painting with water!

Gavin and Luke suggested that we take pics with them on top of the giant bison!

We spent much of the day looking at this view of Makinley making her escape:

always in the opposite direction from the rest of us.

Nothing frightens,

intimidates,

or unnerves her……

She is a complete mess!