Sunday, November 19, 2006

Tribute to my bag of salt

My firstborn turns 17 today. When he was only months old my FIL started calling him 'saco de sal' (bag of salt) because even at that age his personality was clear. He wasn't a sweet baby, or a giggly baby, he was tough. Of course, we can trace his contrarian ways to the womb.

Bear with me while I reminisce...17 years ago last January, I wasn't feeling very well. I had lots of heartburn, was very tired and couldn't shake a cold that I had for weeks. I went to the doctor and after tests was told I had anxiety and needed to relax, there was nothing wrong with me. Weeks go by and I know that something is wrong with me because I'm just not feeling right. I'm nauseous, I can't hold down any food, I'm tired and just don't feel well at all. I go to the Obgyn and am given a clean bill of health. A few more weeks go by with this general malaise and I go back to my Obgyn. For the back few months my cycle was out of whack and so I think if we fix that we'll fix the rest. It never occurred to me that I was pregnant as I had never stopped menstruating. I thought I had some rare disease that they just hadn't tested me for yet. A year earlier I had lost my mother to a rare cancer and I presumed I had something just as rare. As I was changing into the dressing gown, the nurse runs in and tells me she has great news. I'm pregnant! I sat down on the Dr.'s little chair and thanked God that it would be over in 9 months. I did the math with the doctor and we figured I was 4-6 weeks along. A week later I was having a sonogram and they kept taking measurements and going over it and I started getting worried. the technician tells me that this is a big baby, it seems to be more like 9-10 weeks. Finally, the Dr. comes in and tells me that they think I'm a little further along than they thought before. After he checked everything again, he tells me that I'm probably 12-13 weeks pregnant. During labor he went into distress and his heart rate dropped. A sonogram showed that he was actually squeezing the umbilical cord with his hands. It was amazing to see. I couldn't believe it. i had to have a c-section because he was cutting off his own oxygen supply.

Well, he survived all that and plenty of other stuff and today he's 17. I'll tell you more stories later.

Happy birthday to my little bag of salt!

1 comment:

Hilda said... can I call him "Salty" from now on?

You've been a phenomenal mother to both of the boys and I really think they know it. Even though Salty is oftentimes a pain in the butt, he's 17 - that his job! And he's brilliant at it.

The thingis he's a pain in the butt towards you, but to the rest of us, he's a smart, polite, personable kid.

Ya done good...