Carry On, Part 3

There are very few things I have done in my life that I've done"in the "typical"way.

Needless to say, my labour and delivery was the same.  I woke at about 6:30am on Monday, December 30th with some bad gas; or so I thought.  I went to the bathroom, and when I went back to bed mentioned to my husband that maybe I shouldn't have had that piece of Chocolate Eruption cheesecake.  He laughed.

30 minutes later there was no laughing. There was just me, sitting on the toilet, definitely in labour and definitely in pain.  Let it be said here, that among the people who know me, my high pain tolerance is legendary.

I. WAS. IN. PAIN.

Contractions were 7 minutes apart.

And then my midwife says the standard line about ÿou are definitely in labour, but not until full labour until contractions are 5 minutes apart for an hour.

30 minutes after that call, my husband calls the midwife again and says "Her contractions are 7 minutes, then 3 minutes, 7 minutes then 3 minutes, she wont get off the toilet and she's screaming!"

During their conversation, 3 minutes had passed and she heard me scream.  From about 45 feet away. Over the phone.  In a different room.  Between two doors. 

"Jordan, she's in transition, and you need to get her to the hospital NOW."

To which my poor husband says "Transition to what?"

"The baby is coming....now."

Jordan told me we had to go. I told I wasn't getting off the f$%&ing toilet. He offered to call an ambulance, and I told him we couldnt afford a f^%$ing ambulance. So off my perch I got, put on his pyjama pants, his shirt and fuzzy bear claw slippers, and got in the car.  I shore looked preeeetttyyy!

And so, it was like the movies.  Husband blowing every light and stop sign to the hospital.  Wife in the passenger seat, unable to actually sit.  Jordan had the chance to call 3 people before we left.  My parents, his sister, and my best friend (who was coming to assist in the delivery room). 

We got to the hospital, I was raced up to a delivery room, and checked by the midwife who said I could push. 

First push, they could see a head full of hair.  Over two hours later I was still pushing.  Our baby was stuck!

The midwives called for an OB/GYN consult.  He took a look and said,

"Well, he's definitely stuck.  We are going to have to try forceps.  If that doesn't work, we will have to push him back up and go C-Section"

I am pretty sure I stopped breathing for a second or two there.  In my head, I was thinking "there is no goddamned way I have pushed for over 2 hours so you can push him back up!"

Thankfully, it was not necesary. The forceps worked.  Those suckers are HUGE!

On December 30th, 2002, after 4 hours and 43 minutes of labour, over half of it pushing-Zachary James Valiquette was born, at 11:13am weighing 6 pounds 11 ounces.

He came into this world surrounded by love.  In addition to my husband and the midwives, there were my parents and my best friend, Micheline, all there through the whole delivery.  My twin brother and his wife were in the family waiting area.

He had dark brown eyes and a head full of hair.  His feet were enormous, and he was so little.  He took my breath away, and I cried tears of joy.

Despite his difficult delivery, due to his head being tilted so that his ear was touching his shoulder (no wonder he got stuck), he was healthy and perfect.

Since then he was grown into an incredible young man.  He is quiet and introverted.  He's funny without trying to be.  He doesn't like to be the centre of attention.  He's very practical. He's incredibly generous. He loves karate and running.

In the last two years, using running as a fundraiser, Zachary has raised over $2500 for charity.

Every day, he makes me smile.  Every day he makes me proud.

Carry on, Zachary.  Carry on.

Carry On - Part 2

If you missed Part 1, go here--> http://zackandcorbett.blogspot.com/2011/12/carry-on-part-1.html

Oh boy. Holy crap! Wow.

Pregnant. We were going to have a baby.

Jordan was elated. Once the shock wore off, I was too.

Everyone's timeline differs, but in time people were told. Everyone was happy. Even better, my close friend announced her pregnany, and was due two weeks after me.

Life carries on. We had radically different pregnancies. She was glowing. I was puking. She kept glowing, I kept puking. A lot.

Pregnancy and I were NOT friends. But I knew this was meant to be. Babies come when they want, don't they?

We had a name picked the first week we knew, but truthfully, I think that our baby just picked his own name and let us know what it was. There was never any debate. One day, I looked at my husband and said "What about Zachary?" and he said "Yes!"

I was due January 8th.

By end of November, I had horrible heartburn. By mid-December, my feet were swollen. On December 23rd, I had to wear my husband's Size 12 running shoes to a funeral held for my friend's father. I couldn't tie them up. I looked like a beached whale. In running shoes.

At any moment, I was convinced that Greenpeace was going to find me, and return me to the ocean.

And boy were we under stress.

Jordan had been laid off part way through my pregnancy, and we had completely drained our savings so that he could return to school.

My job had ended. Remember that job I took? The one where I was covering the maternity leave, of a girl covering a maternity leave? Well, on December 20th, I started my OWN maternity leave. Clearly, this was a very fertile place.

On top of all this, we signed the papers to buy or first house on December 13th and were scheduled to take posession on January 15th, one week past my due date.

I was huge, I was swollen, I was stressed, I was DONE.

But depsite all this, on December 30th, when I went from no labour, to transitioning in less than an hour, I still had no bag packed.

Everyone says the first baby is usually late. Everyone says the first labour is usually 12 -16 hours.

Well, I like to prove people wrong. Even when its harder on me.

I'm kinda stubborn that way.

Part 3, tomorrow....

Carry On - Part 1

I dislike when people call it a "surprise pregnancy" After all when one engages in such behaviour, pregnancy is an outcome one can reasonably expect.

As a teenager, I was prescribed birth control pills to control extrememly heavy periods. For various health reasons, including debilitating migraines, I was unable to continue and really wasn't comfortable with the other options available to me. When I was 18, I stopped taking them. I carried on with life. I was careful. I was safe.

I started dating Jordan in 1994. Things got serious and I tried the pill again. It went poorly, so after a brief discussion with Jordan, I stopped . We were only dating at the time, but we were adults. Each of us were 22. The year was 1995.

We made the decision to carry on and if a pregnancy occured, we would carry on with that as well. We were careful. Oh so careful. We watched the calendar, I counted days...and our lives went on.

We married in October of 2000, with no immediate plans to start a family. It was definitely something we wanted, but to be honest, I had my doubts. After all, I hadn't used birth control in five years, and there had been no pregnancy.

During the late winter months of 2002, Jordan expressed a desire to add to our family. I wasn't entirely on board. What if we couldn't get pregnant? I was laid off and although he was working the pay was shitty. Being the practical one, I really felt it wasn't the best timing.

We made a deal. We'd carry on, as we had been, and re-evaluated at the beginning of 2003, or when our circumstances changed. A reasonable compromise.

As luck would have it, in April, I interviewed for a contract position. If successful, I would be covering the maternity leave for a girl covering someone's maternity-leave.

In hindsight, that might have been a clue as to my immediate future.

After 2 interviews and about 3 weeks, I was offered the position. My start date was to be the middle of May 2002.

On May 4th, my period was 3 days late. I had only ever been off schedule twice in my life. Once was while I was hospitalized after a major car accident, the other after undergoing surgery.

I decided to wait two more days. If I was still late, I'd take a pregnancy test.

Now, Jordan, on the best of days, is a pretty anxious guy, so I chose not to tell him anything. Why worry him, or get him excited, for nothing?

Two days passed, and there was no period in sight. I picked up a pregnancy test and brought it home. Alone. I closed the door, peed on a stick and panicked when two lines appeared, instantly.

SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG! The test said to wait 2 minutes!

I wasn't sure what to think. After all, the second line literally appeared , the instant that pee met stick. Instantly. Did I mention it was instant?

"It's calibrating" I thought.

So I walked away, and watched the clock tick away two minutes. 120 seconds...

When I looked at that stick, there were still two magical lines.

After 7 years of playing the risky game of russian roulette with my ovaries, I was pregnant.

And I had no frickin' idea what to do.

Part 2 - soonish.....

Part Two --> http://zackandcorbett.blogspot.com/2011/12/carry-on-part-2.html

8 seconds; My race report

On Sunday, October 16th, I ran my second half marathon.

I was pretty excited for this one, because I had been training with my friends, Sherry and Irene. About 4 months ago they decided to attempt their first try at the distance and asked if they could count on me for some training tips.

I told them NO WAY, I'd run it with them instead.

We were able to work our schedules so that we ran almost every single long run together, which means we ran together at least once a week. We dubbed ourselved "The Running Posse"and our LSDs (long slow distance for those not used to runner speak) were our weekly gab sessions.

Race day came and we were all ready, and thankful that it wasn't raining. It was a cool 8-9 degrees celcius, and windy, but NO rain, so I was relieved.

You truly can't imagine what its like to be surrounded by a crowd of that size. Between the 22, 000 people signed up for the 3 events (5km, half marathon, marathon), the race officials, volunteers and spectators it was one hell of a crowd.

I had warned my running posse that the start would be kind of anti-climatic, and that it was. The race started and we all just stood there, and waited. Then walked a few steps forward. And waited. It kept going like that until 11 minutes later, we crossed the start line and started to run.

We all were feeling good and kept a quick steady pace. It was quicker than we planned on, but we all felt great. We were running into the wind for the first 13k, but it wasn't too much of a problem. Once we turned into a tailwind and picked up the pace averaging between 5:45 - 6:00/km

Unfortunately, injuries I sustained in the car accident I was in 20 years ago, have recently flared up. My physiotherapist has done a great job in holding me together for the race, but it was hard to predict what would happen race day. At 15k, I could feel a twinge behind my knee, and adjusted my gait to a bit of a longer stride, which helps.

I let my running posse know that I was going to be struggling soon and that they were to go on without me. For me, this race was really all about them. It was their first half-marathon, and you never have another first!

I was able to keep Sherry and Irene in my sights with a pace of about 6:15/km, until about 17.5 km, when everything kind of fell apart for me. My glute muscles, hamstring and hip weren't really functioning anymore and about every 10 steps or so, my leg would collapse, and I would have to stop myself from falling over.

There was no way in hell I was going to run 17.5k and not run the last 3.6!

No. Way. In. Hell.

I kept telling my body "leg up, leg down, leg up,leg down" and " just a few more minutes, just hold out on me for a few more minutes" . I had to really focus on making my body do what it was supposed to. I would run for about 5 minutes, then walk for about 30 seconds.

At one point, at about 18.5km, a volunteer tapped me and asked "do you need me to call you a medic?". My concentration broken, I said "I don't need a fuckin' medic, I just need to finish".

I feel terribly for that poor volunteer, I know he meant well, but I was so startled when my concentration was broken, it just kind of popped out! Sorry!!!

I saw the 20k marker and picked up the pace. I ran the last 1.1k pretty quickly. I really dont know how, but I knew I had to finish soon. I rounded the corner and heard the crowds packed along the last 500 meters. It was so cool. People just kept yelling me name and encouraging me to finish. By that point I was pretty much dragging my leg behind me.

I crossed the finish line again and got my medal. My leg gave out again and I collapsed, but someone caught me before I went down and made sure I was steady on my feet. I declined medical assistance again, because I know there is nothing they can do for me. I have very weak muscles there because of my injuries and I'm working to fix that. It is so very very frustrating though that 20 years later, I still have to fight my body!

I finished with a chip time of 2:20:11. Eight seconds slower than my first half marathon. I alternate between being disappointed in the time. and recognizing that being able to pull off that time while struggling to even finish the race means that I have come far since the race I ran in May. Its just that eight seconds is so. damn. close.

However, as I said before, this race was not about me. In my mind, it was all about my friends and they ROCKED it. Sherry finished with a chip time of 2:13:53 and Irene finished in 2:18:41. I am so very very proud of them. Its funny, because when they started training, they said they hoped to finish "not over 2 hours 30 minutes". I told them I knew they were faster than that.

Its so true that the last leg of a long distance race is a mental game. I truly believe that if I had let the thought enter my mind that I couldn't finish, Iwould have been right. That's why I was so stunned when the volunteer asked if Ineeded assistance. I refused to entertain the fact that I wasn't going to be able to do it!

The biggest disappointment was the baggage reclaim fiasco. I don't know what went wrong, and I am sure the organizers will get it fixed for next year, but seriously. The last thing that people who have run 21.1 or 42.2 kilometers need to do is stand in the cold and wind for 90 minutes or more to collect their bags.

My leg kept giving out, Sherry was going hypothermic. She was so blue and shivering so hard I kept having to try and warm her up with my own body heat.

Otherwise, kudos to the orgainzers for a great event!

I think that the best way to describe the race for me was that while I didnt have a great race, I definitely did a great job!

Misadventure

On Sunday, October 9th, my husband took this picture.

Seems odd, I suppose, taking pictures of yourself in a public bathroom.

For thanksgiving weekend we travelled to Mississauga to spend the holiday with my Mom's family. Every year, Thanksgiving is spent together, rotating between Mississuaga, Sudbury or Pembroke.

We went shopping on Sunday, and made sure to take this picture. Anytime we are out with the kids in a crowded area, or away from our own city, we do this. That way, (shudder), if one or both of the kids were to become seperated from us, we would have a recent picture of them. In the very clothes they were wearing. If, heaven forbid, the police had to search for my kids, they picture that they would release to the media would be the most recent and accurate it could be.

I have acquaintances who have said I was paranoid for doing such a thing. Some who have said it was a good idea but that they would never remember to do it.

On Sunday, October 9th, while shopping in a large retail store, I didn't know where my son was for close to 25 minutes. 25 minutes.

Let me explain.



We were shopping as a group. My husband, myself, our 8 and 5 year old boys, along with my parents. When we walked in to H&M, the men went one way, my Mom and I went another. Not too long after that, my husband and our 5 year old came back over to me and said they were going outside.



"Where's Zack?" I asked



"I guess he's with your Dad", he said.



"You GUESS?", I asked.


"Well he was with us!" he said sarcastically.



I guess this was good enough of an answer for me, because I didn't pursue it further. But really, why would I? My husband is a good father, and I trust him.



Not too long after, my dad sent my mom a message to let her know he was off to find a bathroom. About 5 minutes after that, I started to wonder where they were. We hadn't heard from them at all. I text my father-- Is zack with you



No answer.



I took a quick walk over to the men's section. No Zachary. No Dad. Starting to get a little annoyed, I call my Dad.



No answer.



I text my husband -- Can't find zack


No answer.




FUCK.



In the back of my mind I knew that Zachary was probably with my father. But you know, what? He's 8. Probably isn't enough. Its just not enough.



I did another quick run through the store, calling his name. At the same time, I was calling my husband's cell.


No answer.



I found a sales associate and said, quickly and urgently.



"I may be missing a kid. He might be with my father, but I just don't know. He's not answering his cell and I just don't know. He's wearing a bright orange shirt with adidas on it and denim shorts. He's got dark hair in a brush cut"




Just saying those words---that he was missing, that I didn't know where he was, having to describe his clothing---made my blood run cold.


To my relief, the sales associate acted quickly. She asked all staff to listen to their radios, but to turn down the sound. She explained what was happening and posted herself at the entrance/exit so that Zachary couldn't leave. This was great, because I wanted to be there,and running through the store, and running through the Heartland Town Centre all at the same time.



I kept walking through the store, quickly, urgently, calling my son's name. This continued for close to another 10 minutes when my mom called my name.



"I've got Dad on the phone. He's got Zack. He's got Zack"



Relief. Pure relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I still didn't know where he was, but at least I knew who he was with. I knew.



I let the sales associate know that we had found him, that he was safe. Everything was okay.


It was all so simple. My dad decided to go look at some other stores and took Zack with him. He just didn't let me know, that they were together. (and boy, did I let him hear about that!) In fact, they were all together. No one heard their phones.



But at least, if we hadn't found him soon, when we would have made that call to the police. We would have had this picture.


The picture with the little 8 year old boy in the bright orange shirt and the denimn shorts with dark hair, in a brush cut.



So people can tell me that its paranoid to take a picture of my kids when we go out to unfamiliar or crowded areas. If it means I am paranoid, I don't want to be anything else.


Jessica

I'll Go With You

11 years ago, I married Jordan. He is a funny, caring, TALL man. I love him to pieces.

For our first dance, we asked our incredibly talented friend Tracy to sing an Italian song, Con Te Partiro (made popular by Andrea Bocelli).

To say she sang it beautifully would be to underestimate how incredible her performance was. About one minute in to the song, we stopped dancing just so we could watch her seemingly effortless performance. I truly wish I had a recording of her performance. (Hint, Hint T)

In celebration of our anniversary, I thought I would post the song and its English translation here.

I love you Jordan. I'll go with you!

(Sorry, I can't make the video imbed, you'll have to make do with the link!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcrfvP11Hbo

I'll Go With You - Con te Partiro

(E. Sartori - L. Quarantotto)

When I'm alone

I dream on the horizon

And words fail

Yes, I know there is no light

In a room where the sun is absent

If you are not with me

At the windows

Show everyone my heart

Which you set alight

Enclose within me

The light you

Encountered on the street

I'll go with you

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you

Now, yes I shall experience them

I'll go with you

On ships across seas

Which, I know,

No, no, exist no longer

With you I shall experience them

When you are far away

I dream on the horizon

And words fail

And yes, I know

That you are with me

You, my moon, are here with me

My sun, you are here with me

I'll go with you

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you

Now, yes, I shall experience them

I'll go with you

On ships across seas

Which, I know

No, no exist no longer

With you I shall experience them again

I'll go with you

On ships across seas

Which I know,

No, no exist no longer

With you I shall experience them again

I'll go with you

I with you.

Its Not About the Politics

When I heard that Jack Layton had passed away, I was sitting in a room at my chiropractor's office, waiting for my appointment. I sat there in stunned silence. I truly wanted to believe that it was one of those jokes. That someone had hacked a twitter account somewhere and posted a cruel joke. Sadly, it is heartbreakingly true.

When the last election campaign was running, Zachary was very curious about the whole process. He is eight, and they had been talking about it a bit in class. I have always, always exercised my right to vote, and was thrilled to be able to talk with my son about it.

I remember in one discussion, he asked me who I was going to vote for. We spoke a bit about how voting is a private matter and typically it wasn't polite to ask someone who they planned to vote for because it is a personal choice. I then told him that I wasn't yet sure.

Like many Canadians, I was very disenchanted with the system. It seemed that we were forced into another election, but being presented with the exact same choices.

But as I watched the campaign unfold, Jack Layton began to truly stand out.

And it wasn't about the politics.

It was about his positive message, his passion, and his integrity. I didn't necessarily agree with all of his policies. It would be rare that I ever fully agreed with any one party's politics. Jack's character, however, completely impressed me. And that's what truly matters, I think.

If only all our politicians loved Canada and its people as much as Mr. Layton did, and loved the politics just a little less, Canada wouldn't just be great, it would be incredible.

In our election discussions, I tried to explain that eachof the parties' policies are important, but the most important is the integrity of the person. Jack Layton showed that in spades.

I have always voted for the person I felt was best for my riding. In the most recent election, I voted for the person I thought could change Canada.

I truly believe that he already has.

One of the strongest examples of this, for me, is in his farewell letter to Canadians.

He reaches out to others fighting cancer; people he knew identified with his fight and felt they were fighting along with him.

He tells them to keep fighting, and reminds them that there is hope. There is always hope.

I hope that my children have the opportunity to learn more about Jack Layton. He is an incredible role model. Canada - the whole world- needs more people with that kind of heart.

RIP Jack Layton. Thank you.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world. ~ Jack Layton

How are YOU going to change the world?

Jessica