OPC

Well hello there.  

Last post I was clumsy with 8 weeks until my due date; I am now 11 weeks postpartum.  The time in between seems a giant blur, but there was one rather eventful day.  And apparently when my husband dutifully texted close family late at night he had rather vague phrasing - "Everyone is okay, considering" - that left more questions than it should have when mixed with rather beat up looking newborn pictures.  As my sister in-law asked, "Considering what?"

Tuesday 3/8

Last scheduled OB appointment four days before my due date.  I was 3 cm, which surprised me, but my OB credited the fact that I was able to run (or, rather, slow waddle for progressively slower paces and shorter distances) throughout the entire pregnancy, with my last waddle-run the day before.  My sanity was very grateful for this, though my ego laughed in my face every time I saw my shadow from the side.  My OB performed an "aggressive" check with hopes that it would make things happen sooner than later, though with the knowledge that I could still have days or a week or more to wait.  

Wednesday 3/9

3:00 a.m. 

Waking from sleep, not exactly uncomfortable but somewhat restless.  Able to turn over and go back to sleep for brief bouts.  Not totally abnormal from the occasional insomnia I had during third trimester.  

4:00 a.m.

Gas? Constipation?  Braxton Hicks?  The real thing?  I was up and about, dutifully reading and rereading the retro-looking pamphlets from my OB's office.  "I can talk, and I can move through it."  I said it out loud to my cats as proof, but they didn't signal any yay or nay.  I noted each time in a note on my phone, many with question marks.    

5:00 a.m.

Nathan woke up and found me with elbows on the counter, which helped me realize that I didn't need to over-analyze any more.  Nathan showered while I grabbed a few more items to add to my hospital bag and off we went to the hospital in Alamosa.  Even if it was too early to be admitted our plan was to at least get to Alamosa to a friend's house since we live 38 miles away and didn't want to risk making the drive too late.

6:30 a.m.

Arrive at the hospital, admitted under observation status.  Contractions every five minutes but of alternating strengths.  Measured 4 cm.  Kept walking around the hospital room to help things along.  My OB happened to be on call that day, and she would be in at 7:00 or so.  

8:30 a.m.

Admitted for real.  Gave me a simple breakfast tray but I could only muster a few bites.  Alternated 15 minutes on the monitor with the rest of the hour walking or moving around.  We went into the halls, realized I was the sole patient in OB.  Renovation of the OB wing was still taking place, and most of the crew had recently replaced the floors in the outpatient building.  They'd seen me grow huge over time.  "Your turn now, eh?"  Sure is.  

10:30-ish a.m.

Still alternating strength of contractions.  I could handle the ones that stayed in my belly and back, but the strong ones radiated through my hips and thighs to my knees.  They nearly made my legs give out each time and impeded my ability to walk or move around the room.  I had wondered throughout my pregnancy if being active would help (my body being used to contractions) or if it would be a hindrance (able to create strong contractions that would be too much).  Laid in bed for 20-30 minutes, legs rocking like windshield wipers.  Somewhere in there my OB said I was 6-7 cm even though my nurse thought I was only at five.  My nurse continued to mention pain control options, repeatedly asking if I wanted an epidural.  I kept saying I would wait and see.  

11:00-ish a.m.

Got up to use the restroom just before a contraction hit.  My legs involuntarily flexed and nearly gave out on me.  Still at the same level of dilation but the contractions were getting stronger.  How much stronger still would they get?  I called the nurse and gave in, requesting an epidural.  While she went off to put in the request I told Nathan he was free to go to the car to get a few things since we had a bit before things would happen.  

I was still internally questioning if I needed the epidural despite the pain being ridiculously intense, especially since I had never experienced anything so invasive before, but once I was alone in my room I realized I had been fighting the idea when others were around - easier to keep a straight face when performing, but cracking when it was just me.  I remembered one of the other OBs saying that epidurals can reduce pain-related stress and thus help prevent excessive reactions (trying to push the baby out too fast) that would cause tears.  My pregnancy was deemed healthy and low risk, so my main fear going into labor was of tearing.  I repeated her conversation in my head to help me feel better about my decision.  

11:30 a.m.

Anesthesiologist arrives.  I could not stop shaking during contractions while the epidural was being inserted, even with my head on Nathan's chest.  Once it kicked in I was finally able to breath, but it was hard to find a position that kept baby's heart rate happy.  The heart rate was variable and rebounded quickly - both good things - so while there was no great concern voiced the team was still watching the monitor closely.  "Let's try the peanut. Everyone loves the peanut."  Imagine an exercise ball version of a peanut shape, placed between your knees while laying on your side.  I did not like the peanut but kept quiet since this was about baby's vitals.  Turned out baby didn't like it either.  Try laying on the other side?  Nope. Back to quarter-turn right with simple pillow support for my left knee.  

I had multiple hypotensive moments once the epidural was fully in effect, with waves of nausea and/or narrowing vision.  Ultimately was given ephedrine and lots of IV fluids.  Puked up the few bites I'd eaten and all the fluid I'd had since waking at four that morning.  Great.  

12:30 p.m.

Still at 6-7 cm.  My contractions were now spaced out, at every ten minutes, since getting the epidural.  And my water was still intact.  My OB tending to something at the moment so had a nurse midwife assess me, and the midwife ultimately decided to break my water.  Out came more than a little meconium.  

They were still watching baby's heart rate while not raising the flag of true concern.  Midwife wants to try the peanut.  "We LOVE the peanut!"  Sigh.  Okay, sure.  I still did not like it; still kept my mouth shut.  Baby's heart rate still didn't like it.  Back to quarter turn with butterfly legs.  

My feet and calves were painfully burning, like a crazy version of restless leg syndrome but without the physical ability to fidget.  Only mild relief when I made Nathan dorsiflex my ankles over and over since I could not do it myself.  I also still had a mild headache related to the epidural.  My nurse agreed that a lower titration would probably work well.  Called back the anesthesiologist, who took some convincing but ultimately agreed to try down titrating from 10 units to eight.  Within minutes the painful tingling went away.  Contractions felt like pressure but no pain.  MUCH better.  But baby's heart rate was still off.  Nurses flip and flop me until we resolve to return to quarter-turn right with butterfly knees held by pillows.  

Unclear how much time passes before I want to munch on crackers to get something in my system.  Fifteen minutes later I puke it up again.  I am now relying on the IV bag and don't even try sipping water.

4:00 p.m.

Finally some progress - something like 8 cm, though now with growing concern about baby.  My OB tries to place a fetal monitor three times, but each time the insertion tool breaks.  Back to the belly monitor.  S/he had "good reserve" - moving frequently, heart rate recovering somewhat from the weird drops - but ultimately the weird drops were becoming more worrisome.  They added saline back into the placenta, which took enough pressure off of baby to stabilize their heart rate to a satisfactory degree while also flushing out some of the meconium.  

Somewhere thereafter I am able to sleep for 45 minutes.  Helpful since I had only slept about three or four hours the night before.

5:30 or 6:00 p.m.

9 cm.  Nurses keep wanting to rotate me as standard procedure for someone unable to turn on their own.  Baby won't have it.  I stay in quarter turn right with frog legs.

7:00 p.m.

Finally 10 cm.  OB is getting prepped.  

7:30 p.m.

Pushing commences.  Baby's face is oriented forward, 180 degrees from the ideal crowning position, so my OB tries to turn them during each contraction.  Baby is a fighter and has quite a sense of humor, repeatedly maneuvering him/herself back to its face forward orientation.  This continues for an hour and a half despite my OB maintaining her hand on baby's head practically the entire time.  

I am given 10L oxygen via mask between each round for baby's sake.  As time passes my OB and nurse are making quiet comments to each other.  I work in a hospital; I know what that tone means.  I just don't know the extent yet.  The pediatrician on call is asked to be present for the birth due to baby's unknown status and the large amount of continuous meconium throughout the day.  I am grateful it's the same MD I plan to use for baby once s/he is born.  But I am getting nervous.  They keep saying s/he has reserve, but the monitor is all over the place.  When I look at Nathan he is getting nervous too.

9:15/9:30 p.m.

Still pushing, not much progress.  My OB the says she thinks baby is getting too wedged.  The options: vacuum extractor, which she isn't fully confident would work; forceps, which might work; straight to cesarean.  I look at Nathan because I'm a foggy mess and I don't know how to make decisions at this point.  Nathan doesn't know either.  I want what is best for baby, but OB wants to try other methods before surgery, so I agree despite her reasons being vague.  (Vague as in not making things too confusing with too much info.  This is probably a good call in hindsight.)  A second OB who is very experienced with forceps is called in to assist.

9:40 p.m.

Second OB is now present - the benefits of this being a small town.  Holds up what looks like giant metal salad tongs that could double as a weapon.  Describes the risks.  Instructions are given.  We can try with three rounds only.  If it doesn't work we go next door for cesarean where the anesthesiologist already waiting on standby.  I don't know if that is reassuring or unnerving.  I am still in a fog and am behind the oxygen mask.  I look at Nathan and take his hand.  His eyes look worried and he looks pale.  

9:45/9:50 p.m.

Pushing with forceps.  The exact moment they were inserted I feel excruciating pain unlike anything I've felt before.  Had an epidural not been established I'd likely have kicked all the doctors and nurses, and likely Nathan as well.  I have a PT moment - epidurals work with dermatomes, and dermatomes refer to soft tissue.  What I felt was metal on bone, and it wasn't fitting easily.  

Two rounds pass without much that I can tell from my end aside from static pain.  I'm pushing as hard as I possibly can, feeling like my head will explode.  Thinking, for the umpteenth time, of the patient in NYC who had a stroke while giving birth.  She was in the adult neuro unit while her baby was all the way over in the neonatal ICU.  I don't know whether to be scared of cesarean or not at this point, so I'm still going for it and hoping.  Before the second round I am given an episiotomy.  I'm getting disoriented and losing focus while my head gets heavy from the pain, but my original OB stern-talks to me and keeps me there much like one does with someone nearly passing out.

Last round.  We get through three breaths without a result.  I think I yell "Keep going!" but it likely was just in my head.  I didn't want the OB to release the forceps yet; I was scared of going next door.  For sure I am nearly screaming and pushing again and again without pause and long past the contraction.  I hadn't thought the pain could get worse, but on the fourth or fifth push I can feel the head on the verge and I am desperate.  I cannot hold the contractions or my breath for any actual pattern, so I'm just pushing as continuously as I can while screaming through it all.  Somewhere between six and eight pushes, and with the OB laying back for leverage with the forceps, baby finally comes flying out.  The release is immense.  I open my eyes just in time to see a literal triangle of a head held by the metal tongs.  Quick glance to Nathan, who is ghostly pale with wide eyes.    

9:54 p.m. 
After more than 15 hours in the hospital we have a boy.  Owen Prentice Cockrell.  Stats: 7 lbs 9.5 oz., 20 3/4" long, head circumference 14".   

I don't know his condition but the commotion is too much for me to compute, so I lay back with eyes closed.  Cord is cut and baby Owen is at the warmed before I can take a breath.  I want to cry so badly but cannot.  Eventually I hear a newborn cry instead.  Apgar score initially 6, improves to 9.  

The pediatrician jokes with my crying boy, "What's the matter, big fella? You don't even know who Trump is yet!"  Nathan gets to clamp the cord stump, having proven the nurses wrong by not fainting.  My OB delivers my placenta and shows me the massive extent of meconium.  It is entirely a pukey-olive green color.  Owen is placed on my chest, his right eye and left jaw bruised with a cut at the lateral right eyebrow - battered, but whole and fully functioning.  Did this really happen?  I really made a tiny human?  

I get stitched up in at least four places, a mix of internal and external.  The necessary events are completed with a mere ten minutes left of my epidural.  Once the pitocin has completed its run I have had five liters of IV fluid in total.  The first feeding is attempted with help from the baby's nurse.    

Nathan calls parents and texts siblings, then dutifully goes to find food in a rural town after midnight.  I end up eating a giant Walmart sub sandwich, my first food and fluid intake (that stayed down) in nearly 36 hours.  Now that hormones have changed I can keep down food and fluids easily.  We still have to do baby's first bath and other education.  Our first inkling of a half hour of sleep comes after we have been awake for over 24 hours.  But we have a baby, and we are all in a good place despite having such a rough ride. 

*************************

Turns out Owen had a nuchal cord, meaning wrapped around his neck and, in Owen's case, pinched under his wedged occiput.  He also had an initial facial nerve palsy for a minute or two due to forceps compression, meaning a droopy right half of his face (sort of like with a stroke), despite his initial Apgar score of six.  Also turns out Owen's head was so wedged that my OB was worried that a cesarean would be complicated and harder on Owen (and me) than the forceps - despite cutting open my stomach they would still have to un-wedge his head to get him out.  We got lucky that he inevitably made it out vaginally.  

At my six week follow up, which was with the OB who employed the forceps, he could not say with full conviction though highly suspected the issue was the size of my pelvis.  I had worried about this even before getting pregnant, and I repeatedly asked everyone in the OB department if the head size could be projected as early as the 20-week ultrasound.  Each time they chuckled and said not to worry, I will be surprised, hormones make things stretch all over the place, my pelvic outlet was probably fine despite looking narrow from the outside.  Now when friends or coworkers ask how the birth went I simply say "My pelvis?  Yea.  It didn't.  It just didn't."  

But ultimately I was where both Owen and I needed to be, and multiple health professionals noted my birth story is an example of their anti-home birth preference.  Owen needed the warming table with immediate lung suctioning.  I needed help getting him out.  Were we living 100 years ago would Owen, or either of us for that matter, have survived?  As I tried to sleep that first 30 minutes in the wee hours of the next morning, the metaphor was not lost on me of cows getting "pulled."  A cow's birth stalls for whatever reason or the calf is breach, so chains are inserted around the hooves and the rancher uses their body weight to pull back while mama cow is having a contraction.  Sound familiar?  Right down to the metal apparatus.  I've watched from 10 feet away, and this was merely my turn.  

The enormity of that day did not fully set in until the next night, when a patient in the ICU (the floor above me) coded (read: cardiac arrest) at 3 o'clock in the morning.  When that happens a call goes through the entire hospital and everyone on staff comes running.  Granted it was called incorrectly, but when I heard "Medical emergency, room 304" over the intercom the tears that didn't flow before then poured out in buckets, grateful that the call for medical back-up was not related to Owen or me.  Owen did not enter this world a purple mess of respiratory distress; we did not have to be emergently flown to Children's Hospital in the Front Range; I was not sawed in half so as to un-wedge my wedged baby.  And other than the scar under his eyebrow and the possible change to his hairline, you'd never know he went through so much.  

By the time Owen was born there was one other mama in the OB unit.  It was her second kid.  Two pushes and out came the baby.  Both OBs tried to reassure me that the next kid, once (and if) Nathan and I get there, would have a good change of a much smoother entrance into the world.  I'll believe it when it happens.

34 Weeks

I was going to write about all the fun new aspects of being mid-third trimester, like the bladder kicks while I waddle-run and the sometimes insomnia for no reason.  It seems, though, that the degree of Klumsy Katie trumps the rest at the moment. 

So instead of typing all these things out on my computer with my mega finger I am instead pecking them out on my phone with my thumbs. 

Just before Christmas I took a few layers off the end of my left thumb while cutting bread with a serrated bread knife. My mother was less than impressed with the length of time I tend to give a band-aid. 

Yesterday while chopping onions for stew the outermost layer swiftly slipped off the steadfast under-layers, sending the chef knife into the side of my middle finger that I mistakenly assumed was well out off the way. It was quite a bleeder, hence the massive use of gauze -- making my RN mother proud yet again, no doubt -- but luckily my nail prevented a visit to the ED.  

Nathan helped with my snazzy gauze job and then dutifully stayed in the kitchen while I finished the rest of the meal.  I saw his sideways glances, but I didn't argue. The whole process of being pregnant is very much a slow loss of any control of yourself, so it seems.  The next six weeks should prove to be interesting.  Baby has shown the size of its head, pressing out laterally while little toes push into my opposite hip, and I'm trying not to think too much about the little melon having since more weeks of growth...

28 Weeks

Yesterday I hit 28 weeks, the official start of third trimester.  Baby makes up its own kung fu on an hourly basis.  Today I felt it shift a few times while running, which was new.  It'll punch while I eat as well.  That last one feels awesome [sarcasm].  

No one but the occasional close work friend has dared to touch my growing belly.  I credit the years in NYC and a lingering standoffishness when it comes to personal space.  But all kinds of patients have offered their two cents.  

"Is that a bambino?"  

Yes it is. 

"Boy or girl?"  As though it's your business.

We didn't find out. 

"On purpose?"  Seriously? No, we just forgot that piece of information.

Yup, on purpose.  

"Good for you.  What have you got, one month left?"

Nope, three.  Thanks for playing. 

"Wow.  It must be a boy."  

Okay.  Thanks.

Never mind that I was just as active in the womb and came out at about nine pounds at birth.  I'm amazed at how emphatic the gender stereotypes run, even in a conservative area like this.  But regardless of gender, I'm rather certain this child will come into this world dropping the f-bomb.  

Only in the last week or two has the weight started to actually affect me.  I notice my back while sleeping and if standing static for too long.  Still running, but my longest run of the week is down to 7 or 8 miles at most, and I'm guaranteed to need a side of the road pee stop by 40 minutes in -- one of the good parts about rural life.  I've also had to switch back to Hoka running shoes because of my right ankle.  I could only sigh in resigned agreement when a hospitalist made notice that the waddle had infiltrated my walking.  

But, baby is healthy, and all things considered I'm in a really good place.  Passed my glucose test with a read of 58, which is one of the lowest my OB has seen in her career.  (135 and above is the cutoff for gestational diabetes.)  She credits the running.  The fact that moderate amounts of sugar still can make me nauseous also helps.

Now to survive one more day of work, then I'm off to MO for Christmas.   

Tripawd the Huntress

Sadie is now nine and a half days out from her amputation, and has shown signs of feeling better these last two days.  Periods of autonomous sleeping in lieu of constant snuggling, no indication of nerve pain, swatted Merus in the head when Merus got on her face, and getting a bit more aggressive when it comes to food time. 

Last night I woke to use the bathroom at 1:00am, noticing Sadie was not tucked up in our bed like other nights.  As I got to the other side of the house I heard her cone scraping a bit.  Maybe she was using the litter box again?  Turned on the light in the bathroom, both cats over by the shower. 

Merus caught my eye since she was frantically searching around the shower curtain, circling in and out, sniffing and looking. That only happens when she knows the presence of beans, avocado, asparagus, and mice.  

Sadie had already calmly tri-hopped into the next room.  Found her squatted down and facing away under my desk.  

Chewing. 

Turned on that light, and sure enough there was a tail hanging out of her mouth.  That mouse was toast.  And, impressively, Bad Cat's cone was intact.  

I can never tell if Merus first maimed the critter before Sadie pounced, since Merus only has her front teeth and three canines (no molars), or if Sadie did all the work herself.  Either way, it's clear Bat Cat is feeling better and getting back her game.  I guess this also helps her keep a high protein post-op diet.  Even now as I get ready for my morning waddle "run" she is sitting smug and satiated.  Cue purr-fest.  

Poop surprises

Yesterday I got home from work to Nathan exasperated at the table.  "I need your help.  Sadie stepping in poop earlier and I couldn't get it all off."  Miss Sadie was sitting prim and proper on the kitchen table atop the mail, calmly looking up from her cone at my entrance.

"I got what I could and left the cone off in hopes she'd get the rest.  She cleaned everything else but that foot."  

We'd removed the litter box lids so that Bad Cat could negotiate them with her plastic collar.  Apparently she still had trouble turning around.  Nathan held her while I wedged a sudsy washcloth between her toes.  

Last night I built a new fire and saw a credit card statement atop the burn pile unopened.  I asked if he meant to keep it.  "No, it's got poop on it.  Sadie sat on it before you got home."  The slightest tinge of tan on one corner of the envelope.  He didn't want the contents either.  He's thorough with disposal of poop cooties, it seems.  

An hou ago I heard Sadie kicking around the litter for a good minute.  Then Nathan.  "Whatcha doin' in there, Sadie?  Are ya... Oh, Sadie, don't do that!  Sadie, stop that!"  

When Nathan called her name she look up from inspecting her poop, but since the cone extends so far beyond her face she ended up hooking the poop on the edge.  Upon lifting her head the poop rolled down the inside to her neck. 

I walked over to check out the commotion, and Nathan walked out holding the cone with the tips of two fingers.  "I guess we should wash it, huh?"  The only evidence I saw were two little smudges on the collar's edge, but Nathan's face was priceless.  Sadie came out and sat before us, again all prim and proper but more relaxed without the cone.  

Just you wait until March, Nathan.  Just you wait.   

Tripawd

Sadie, aka Bad Cat, aka Toader, has gone through a big change. 

She had an amputation five days ago. She developed a tumor that spread to both her left humerus and scapula, but the more likely source was chondral or synovial. What felt firm and osseous from the outside ended up as a large fluid muck of a tumor big enough to dislocate her shoulder. 

Nicely, her lungs -- the next location of spread for synovial/chondral tumors -- was totally clear, as were all other lymph nodes in her neck and other three legs. 

The entire staff at Alpine Veterinary Hospital loved her, which figures.  She always makes others swoon.  The surgery went very well as dos her initial recovery.  Our DVM said she spent much of her second day there happily lounging under a heat lamp.  Back home the next night she was practically her usual self aside from one less arm. 

The scar is big but not heinous, but she can reach some stitches to lick.  So she has also ended up with a cone.  She's strong enough to move with it, but she quickly realized its sight and maneuverability limitations and so mostly sleeps.  We take it off when she eats and leave it off until she starts licking or until we have to leave home.  She has had a bit of nerve pain, but so far we have not had to administer meds as it is in small enough waves that are fairly well spread apart.  Apparently cats typically experience little to no pain after amputation, which is quite amazing when your job deals with human postoperative pain on a daily basis.  She has only managed to ditch the cone once. 

Nine more days until the stitches come out. Mice beware -- I doubt missing a limb will slow her down for very long!

21 Weeks

Apparently everything changes after becoming pregnant, and earlier than you'd expect.  At this point I'm just past halfway.  The hash marks at the top of one of my pregnancy apps is now slightly right of center, making the visual representation now much more impending.  My three pairs of faithful surgical green scrub pants, the only non-pregnancy pants wearable past 12 weeks, now bind when I bend over.

And, baby started kicking and punching two weeks ago exactly, at 19 weeks.  We were in Denver for the Rock 'n' Roll series so I could run my pregnancy swan song race (the half marathon).  The day before the race Nathan took notice that the Royals pulled ahead of the Blue Jays 5-3, and baby gave three quick jabs just as he announced it out loud.  Before then the whole thing was happening and yet still so abstract.  Not any more -- the little parasite move constantly since two days after those first moves.  There's no waiting for me to sit or lay down quietly like some articles say.  We might just have our hands full with a little tirade.  My mother will be so pleased if that's the case....

It's great to be out of first trimester, but on the whole my experience has been tame.  The air felt like thick molasses, so walking two minutes to get lunch felt like an hour excursion.  Nausea started around 11:00 and progressed in strength throughout the day.  No vomiting, though once I was very close.  My good habit of making enough dinner to have leftovers to take for lunch came to a crawl since food never appealed two days in a row.  Took a while to realize that, so more foot went to waste than I'd like.  I was very worried about accidental ingestion of dairy causing GI rejection because historically that leaves every internal organ in my abdomen on fire for a good 48 hours, so throughout the summer I meticulously worked my way from a taste of yogurt to an entire container to now even tolerating foods like real pizza.  In a rural area like we have, its hard to avoid dairy (hence the accidental ingestions before - all from four little pieces of feta!) so a reinstated tolerance has been a relief.

I was able to run the Creede Mountain Run, a 22 mile trail race that goes up to the Continental Divide and back down, at 13 weeks -- OB approved and with evidence based data on pregnancy and exercise to bolster the method.  Instructions were to keep the pace at a level for which I could still talk and to make sure I consumed lots of fluid.  Spent at least half the race with a woman named Andrea from Colorado Springs.  Turns out she is a speech therapist and a former dancer.  We had fun.  The more races I run in Colorado the more time I get to see and spend time meeting other female runners instead of all guys.  As for my time, I was only a half hour slower than last year, and I even stopped part way down the descent to pee (which means fluid intake was good).  4h14m, 4th female and 8th overall out of 22 runners.  Women took five of the top ten spots (!!), AND my time from last year was two minutes faster than this year's first female finisher.  There's only a little bit of pride in that last note.

Since I hit second trimester things have continued to slow down and grow.  Running "intervals," which I usually refer to as "fast waddles," means on days when I feel fast for the first time in eons I'm still at least two minutes per mile slower than before.  Not worried about that, but it is interesting to note the different in effort that gaining at least fifteen pounds creates.  I'm able to stay awake past 7:30pm, though I'm still in bed by 8:30/9:00 most nights.  If I have more than a small portion of sugar -- and I mean small -- then the nausea comes back with a vengeance.  A coworker once gave me a silly pretend superlative deemed the Human Vulture Award for all the chocolate (and everything available) I usually eat; now I can barely have one snack sized Snickers or equivalent.  Same thing goes if I don't stick to a high protein diet, which means my saliva will make me nauseous in the evening.

As I mentioned above, I did the Denver Rock 'N' Roll half marathon two weeks ago (at 19 weeks).  Dropping four thousand feet in elevation made me feel five if not ten pounds lighter.  I planned to be satisfied with just breaking two hours even, but managed a surprise 1h48m.  My back was tired and my feet were sore, but baby kicked its second day in a row not even an hour later.  I kept with the fluid plan and took all water and Gatorade stops along the course, so I even stopped to pee at mile 9.  The race photos, on the other hand....  I may look like a waddling pregnant lady with a packaging problem while running (ugh...), but at least I don't waddle when I walk!

Nathan has been very tolerant of the hormones so far.  The few times I have tripped and fallen, like one week ago when my foot snagged the garden hose on the way to the car, I always superman slide and always bonk my knees (not my belly), just like before pregnancy.  But because hormones are involved now, I immediately cry upon hitting the ground and it keeps going for at least five minutes.  Poor Nathan had no idea what to do about me.  I usually drive to work and he drives home, so as we make our way off the ranch and onto the highway I was still a sniffling and snorting mess.  I can't recall that morning without laughing hysterically, even now, especially when I picture Nathan's bewildered face.

We are almost done getting wood for the season, with a plan for two cords tomorrow to hopefully round out our pile.  Nathan does all the cutting and we stick to smaller trees.  I use an ax to clean off the branches, a super easy task when you pick fully dry trees, and I stay in the back of the truck to stack and organize instead of carrying unless they logs are small enough.  Even with being pregnant it is still more efficient for Nathan and I to go out on our own since the neighbors and their kids can be, in their words, like herding cats.  At least for now, that is.  My guess is I only have a couple more weeks left in that window when considering how fast my belly is growing.

One last note:  No, I am not taking weekly bump pictures.  I say this because numerous people have asked.  I've never had that kind of sentimentality in my adult life.  There will be a million baby photos after it is born, but baby bumps and documenting an awkward process is just not my thing.

San Luis Peak - birthday 14er

Before moving to Colorado my birthday tradition was sitting down with a friend or two to devour a watermelon.  Now the tradition is to climb a peak.  

I chose San Luis Peak because it is within an hour's drive, it's not exposed, and it was accessible for someone like Nathan who has been out of the routine. 

Total mileage out and back: 13 miles.

Highest elevation: 14,014 feet.

The trailhead, north of Creede:

Making our way up to the 12,500 ft saddle: 

These little ones waddled with us for a bit:

At the 12,500 ft saddle.  A small descent is followed by the long walk-up approach:

We have to descend to the right, follow the along the inside as the mountains take the trail curving left, then pop over the grassy saddle in the distant left:

Heading up to the grassy pass:

Columbine, the state flower:

Over the grassy pass the trail makes a sharp right and curves on the inside of more ridges with a handful of snowy passes.  I fell through to my thigh a few times, but that's as few as it got:

Looking back as we start up the side of San Luis Peak proper:

Lots of false top outs.  The summit is back there somewhere:

Nathan didn't like that I snuck one of his face:

Grass gives way to scree:

Scree gives way to grass and then more scree.  The rock bulges are cairns, the form of trail markings used out west:

The summit!  And my GPS was only off by five feet:

Birthday accomplished:

A tour of Del Norte Peak

So far this spring has granted me seven summits of North Twin Mtn (10,500 ft), with lots of steep ups and downs to get there, and one of Del Norte Peak (12,300 ft) for longer durations at lower grades.  I still want to explore trails closer to Wolf Creek, but a series of events have made routes accessible from home more desirable.  This became an opportunity to run my own marathon on the DN Peak's forest roads before bushwhacking to the top.

Just after leaving the parking lot:

An ATV type road forks off at the two mile mark.  They are still pretty muddy and wet.  Follow the road as it turns left:

Up a steeper segment, then get views of the neighboring valley including Blue Ridge and North/South Twin, and start to get views of the Sangre de Cristos on the opposite side of the valley:

Once the road turns south again you hit what I call the "4-mile cattle guard."  During the summer the cattle from our ranch are hanging out on one side or the other of here at ~9500 ft:

The road starts flanking the actual ridge as it continues to ascend at 2-12% grades.  Coming up on 7.2 miles is the turn off that allows a longer approach but also a western (read: snowless) ascent.  Turn before the "7-mile cattle guard", now at 10,500 ft:

The grades of ascent are numerically the same but feel greater because there's less variance, but after another good mile there's a downhill piece that lets your legs get their feeling back.  It also brings a glimpse at the northern face of Del Norte Peak:

The bottom of the hill navigates through a logging area.  I never have figured out if this is commercial or part of the burn protection, but there have been downed trees hanging around here even since last year when Nathan and I last made a full summit and took this route:

Another look on the inside of the bend.  Currently at 10,700 ft:

A bit more climbing as you travel west, then the road flattens for a couple miles while passing what can be camp sites or areas for folks (like us with permits) to collect wood.  At 11.5 miles, after wondering for some time if you blew right on past the peak, is the initial turn towards the summit.  Now at 11,000 ft, there's lots of mud and swampy areas due to continued melt and runoff:

I stayed on the road for something like a quarter mile, maybe a half mile.  Now you are getting closer, 11,300 ft:

And at some point you just have to decide to turn off and bushwhack.  Just keep the top in your view and climb straight up:

The trees begin to thin as you work your way up and increasing incline:

And now the real work begins - 20-45% grades per my GPS watch.  Above tree line is always awesome.  Just over a half mile and another thousand feet of gain remaining:

This was during one of the 45% grade sections.  Eye on the prize while trying to beat the clouds and weather:

I beat the clouds by about a minute, so my proof-of-summit shot meant I stood with my head at the base of a cloud.  13-ish miles completed.  Here is looking east.  

There's a glass jar with multiple registers, pencils, and a few odds and ends left by previous summiters.  Someone also stowed a tequila bottle amongst the rocks, but that is long ago consumed:

Clouds start to thicken, so time to descend.  Looking to whence I came, to retrace my steps back to the bottom:

After retracing my steps and getting back to the logging areas thunder starts to roll in to the south.  I'm in the clear before any lightning chance has sprouted.  Hey, I was just up there:

The long downhill also means less effort and more looking around.  Saw a bunch of cow prints, but also a few elk who had crossed the road between the 4- and 7-mile cattle guards.  Lightning was starting to strike back by the peak, so I didn't longer long:

Below the 4-mile cattle guard, a glimpse at the baby aspen trees filling in areas of burn recovery.  There were much more ashen stumps visible last year:

Once back at the parking lot I had a solid 26 miles, so I went ahead with the silly loop around the lot for an even marathon of 26.2.  Total ascent was just shy of 5000 ft of gain.  Satisfying and peaceful day.