Keitt Update - June 2013

Having Babies in a Foreign Land: A Birth Story

Part Two

It was a somber ride home from the hospital that day.  One of those “what the heck did we just do?!” moments where it’s best not to try and immediately find a solution.  Since it was already late afternoon, we decided to just relax (ha) for the rest of the night and start looking for another hospital and doctor the next day.  We were thankful to feel confident about making the right decision that day, but just had no idea how this would all turn out in the end. 

The next day we went to a natural birthing center a friend had recommended.  We almost immediately fell in love with the place and the two midwives that ran it.  They talked about being on the baby’s schedule, having to wait for him and not trust silly machines over nature, or rush babies because they are “late” according to a date no one can ever be completely sure of in the first place.  It was the first time that week that I didn’t feel guilty for not going into labor yet, and the first time ever that I felt 100% on the same page as my medical provider. 

I’ve never been gung-ho about drug-free labor.  To each his own, but if I would have had my first baby in the States, I would have tried to go without an epidural as long as possible but would have no shame in getting one if need be.  Choosing this birthing center meant changing that birth plan at 41 weeks, but after my pseudo-birth experience in a “we’ll pump you full of drugs and then give you a C-section” ambiance, I was willing to go the other extreme.

So we were really excited about our new plan.  For about an hour.  Then we found out how much it cost since it’s not under our insurance.  No go.

Plan B was to go to the 5 hospitals on our plan and basically beg a doctor to help us.  So we started at our same hospital; thankfully somebody had lied when they said we could never come back.  After explaining my situation to the receptionist, I could tell this was a first for them.  Thankfully for me, I was too fed up with this whole process to feel nervous or embarrassed about it.  So we sat down and waited.  A couple minutes later, a doctor walks out and I overhear the receptionist explaining our situation.  I can tell by the doctor’s face that she is just as confused as the receptionist was, so I go beg her offer to explain the situation myself.

After hearing us out, she agreed to not only stick with us for another next week but also do an ultrasound right then to make sure everything looked ok.  Which it did.  Lil’ Man and all his fluids were just perfect.  All we had to do now was wait. 

The next week was full of doing everything we’d ever read that could possibly induce labor.  We went on walks.  We drove around town looking for magic natural potions that tasted like dirt, and raspberry leaves to make tea.  We went on more walks.  We climbed a small mountain.  We walked to the store, bought a pineapple, came home, and I ate about half of it.  Did I mention we went on a lot of walks?

 At least we had time for more sight-seeing!

One of my walking buddies for the week 

 I hate papaya

Finally, at 41 weeks and 6 days, we agreed it was time, si o si, to meet him.  Since I was still not showing any signs of labor and Coen hadn’t even dropped yet, we scheduled an induction and knew that if it didn’t take this time, a caesarean it would be. 

 Finally - the last pregnant picture!

Thursday morning on the 28^th, we checked into the hospital again and did the same routine as before.  We even got the same admissions lady, and various nurses that recognized us from the week before.  In a weird way, we kind of felt famous!  Ohhh those crazy Gringos… 

 Round 2 

Our new midwife, (here every doctor works with their own midwife, it’s a pretty cool system actually – The midwife stays with you throughout the whole time and the doctor comes for delivery) sat with us and actually explained everything that was going to happen.  This was a first; Tracey was convinced it was because everyone thought we would try to run out again, I think she’s just a really good midwife…  So we started the Pitocin and waited.  After about an hour and a half of contractions, she could tell that it wasn’t helping Coen move.  Instead of the contractions helping move him down, they were causing his heartrate to drop and then recover, only putting him in distress.  Once the doctor confirmed this, we felt at peace with stopping the induction.

From that point on, everything happened so fast.  There was an opening in one of the operating rooms, so we would be leaving within 10 minutes.  Tracey left to go change into scrubs and I was wheeled away to wait outside for the room to open up.

When they wheeled me in a few minutes later, I couldn’t help but think – Well this is exactly the opposite of how it is on Grey’s Anatomy.  It was a huge open room with white not-florescent-but-abnormally-bright lights.  There were about 10-12 people going in and out, and I was thankful to have my midwife’s familiar face with me the whole time.  As I helped myself onto the operating table, one of the nurses actually said, “Wow, you’re so tall, you barely fit on the table.”  Excellent way to get this grande Gringa feeling confident about her first major surgery experience.

My midwife was explaining some things to me and next thing I knew the anethesiologist was introducing himself to me and explaining how the epidural block would work.  He was very nice, made sure I didn’t have any questions, and even complemented me on my Spanish.  I think he could tell I was nervous :) It was only a few minutes later he came back to have me lean forward and be very still, like you cannot move at all, while he stuck a giant needle into my spine.

It was in that moment, unfortunately for my pride, that my emotions decided to let loose.  All the thoughts seemed to flood my brain at once: of finally getting to meet our son, of mourning the birth experience I never got to have, of realizing how exposed and alone I was in that moment, of being surrounded by strangers.  I don’t know how I see all these facebook pictures of moms smiling horizontally with their surgery/shower caps on like this C-section thing is no big deal.  In an instant, with the prick of a needle, it completely overwhelmed me.

As I felt the effects of that needle start to make my legs tingle, they strapped my arms down and put a curtain up over my chest so I couldn’t see anything.  Tracey finally got to come in, and I actually had to look twice to make sure it was him, since I was looking at him upside-down and he was covered with scrubs and a mask.  I was glad he was there before they started operating.  I knew they couldn’t have started yet because I still felt like I could kind of feel my legs.  Much to my surprise, he told me they had already started.  Obviously, I couldn’t feel anything, except some movement/pulling.  I’ll spare you any more details about the actual surgery, but Tracey said it was crazy.

And then all of a sudden we hear “¡viene, viene!, he’s coming, he’s coming!”  and all I can think about is how unfair it is that everyone else can see him coming except for me.  With a final pull, surgeon #2 begins to hum the U.S. national anthem, (I am impressed and internally ashamed that I still couldn’t pick out the Chilean national anthem if I heard it,) and Tracey tells me he is here!  I begin to weep (not convenient to have your arms strapped down when you have snot running down your face) and after what seems like an eternity they bring this tiny, screaming blue baby around the curtain.

We finally meet.

As the surgeon held him to my cheek, someone let one arm go so I could touch his tiny face and head.  They asked for a name, Tracey and I nodded at each other, and he proceeded to spell out “Coen Tracey Keitt” because I'm sure none of those 3 names had ever been heard in that hospital. 

After a few more moments of enjoying our little family, they took him over to get him weighed, measured, cleaned off, and dressed.  His clothes were humorously too large (How do you pack for a newborn you’ve never met?!) but who cares.  Our long-awaited son was finally here with us, and although we have no idea what we’re doing as parents, we couldn’t be more excited to start learning with him. 

3 Strikes...

...and you’re apparently us.  This will be the third house that we thought we were going to buy, that will we will packing up once again.

In 2009, right after we got engaged, we fell in love with this cute little house in NoDa.  The process with this one went all the way to us giving up our deposit due to an “iffy” inspection.  Things like, “well, there might be a mold issue.. and there might be water damage in the foundation...” and “if that’s true it might cost you $10,000 to fix” = a no go.  We were thankful a year later when we realized that losing that house and renting for our first year of marriage gave us the freedom and availability to move to Chile.

House #2 came after being in Chile a few months.  We found the perfect corner lot, with an ok 2-story house that we could make the needed improvements but showed great potential.  We put down a deposit that was time-sensitive (NEVER do that in Chile) and as long as we got our temporary visas on time it would be fine.  Obviously paperwork here is never on time, which we know now.  Strike two.

So here we are in house #3.  Last February we signed a contract to buy the house and rent until we got our permenent visas and a bank account.  With no time restraints (we learned our lesson the first time) and a $1,000 fine for either party if they broke the contract.  So we painted it, fixed it up, made it our own, brought home 2 puppies and then a newborn, because we knew we were staying here. 

A few weeks ago we got a letter from the landlord saying he is breaking the contract and we have 60 days to be out.  After talking to him, he informed us that no, he is not going to pay the fine.  After talking to lawyers we’ve been told that “yeaaaah, there’s kind of an unspoken thing where if you guys take too long then the contract isn’t really valid.”

If this makes no sense to you, then you are understanding our situation completely.

There are more variables, but it’s funny, in a completely frustrating way, that this will be our third strike at being home-owners.

Which has made me wonder: Are we just supposed to be nomadic forever?

One good thing about moving so much is that it makes you get rid of a lot of junk since you get so tired of moving it from place to place.  Tracey and I both have long-time held the conviction of living simply on what we need, which to me means using and sharing everything we have and getting rid of anything not being used.  (Which does not explain why I have transported an Old Navy rainjacket I bought for 6th grade camp not only from high school to college and then every move post-college, but also to another continent, when 1) I don’t think I’ve worn it since middle school, and 2) it is of horrible quality and has never even worked as a rain jacket.... Some things just slip through the cracks I guess...) 

Another positive about leaving this house, although we’ll never beat the location, is that it was built really poorly.  To the point that we talked about destroying the entire thing and starting over when we were ready to add onto it. 

And on a not-so-important-but-it-is-still-nice-to-think-about-changing note, I won’t miss having to ghetto rig our dryer like this every winter to dry clothes:

 Our only bathroom

or wonder where we’re going to put Lil’ Man when he gets too big for our room:

Not to mention siblings 

and of course the other kids need more space, too.

Rough life

So there are positives to be said for this frustrating legal situation, and on those we will choose to focus.  Although it will be sad to leave the home we really did think was going to work out this time, we’ll keep trusting that there are reasons that it won’t be, and that hopefully someday we’ll finally be home-owners.  Until then, here’s to packing...

Keitt Update - May 2013

This month, as our first non-video month, we wanted to highlight some things that have been going on at the Keitt homestead, where the Coen kingdom is plotting a coup d'etat, but we're still standing firm :)  

Coen's a legal citizen.  Maybe he'll resent us later for keeping this picture when the man asked if we wanted to retake it... but it was just too funny.  (Plus, it's hard enough to get a 6-week-old to look forward, keep their eyes open, and not cry all at the same time.)  But Coen is officially a dual citizen with 2 passports and one heck of a Chilean ID.

We have our permanent visas.  Remember all those prayer requests for favor with paperwork?  Not only did we get favor, we got it months earlier than we thought we'd even hear a response.  In Chile, this is truly a miracle.

John came to visit.  Our friend John Turner got to visit again for a few days while he taught a leadership class at the Institute 8 hours south in Lautaro.  We got to share a few meals together on his weekends on either end of the trip.  It is always great to see him!

Coen was dedicated at church.  We were honored to have our neighbors join us at church for the first time to see Coen dedicated, and to our surprise have John be a part of the presentation and prayer for him.  It was, as he said, "a little touch of home" that we needed and appreciated having for that special event.

We're revamping good ol' Sunday School.  We're at the edge of a new beginning and I'm both excited and nervous.  The long term goal is restructuring how we teach and connect to not only the students, but their families and the communities in which we live.  We've got some big audacious goals. Tears, frustation and confusion will happen, but I've always seen those as necessary elements for any sort of true growth.  A few weeks ago we did our first ever financial simulation with the kids; which was a hit.  We're hoping to make this an annual event along with others that bring reality ans application to our faith.

House of Hope has almost 20 kids!  We finally got to catch up with Tia Susi over bread and tea one evening.  She got to meet Coen, and we got to hear everything that's been going on at HOH these last 2 months.  Seems like things are going well and hopefully we'll be able to visit them and meet the new kiddos soon.

I'm not pregnant.  I wrote the first part of Coen's birth story (I am going to finish it someday...) and due to an ironic play on words on my part, a lot of people thought I was pregnant again.  I found this to be hilarious, as well as not true.  

We have our tickets to go the States!  It is real, people.  We will be visiting our families between 3 states from July 11th - August 10th.  We have been more homesick for them than ever before, so this is excellent timing.

We're moving.  Our landlord kicked us out so we will be moving out a week before leaving for the States in July.  What was an initially super stressful situation, as it's not quite as "adventurous" to think about being nomads with 2 large dogs and a newborn, could end up being a great change for us.  We will be renting a friend's house for 2 years while he and his wife complete a master's in Mississippi.  The timing is perfect, and we're so thankful to not only have somewhere to go, but a place in our price range that we won't have to fix up before we move in.  They are also letting us store our stuff (aka entire house) there for the few weeks we'll be in the States before they leave.

And to conclude, because we couldn't resist, here are the latest developments from Lil' Man's end.  No wonder this kid sleeps most of the day as he has been quite busy learning how to smile, stick out his tongue, grow and raise his eyebrows, and communicate to us with coos.      

First shampoo

Everyone loves the Boppy

Just like dad with his too-short-for-his-long-arms sleeves

Ready for winter

June Prayer Requests

1.  For Christine's health to clear up completely

2. For patience, wisdom, and effective communication with the changes being made in Sunday School

3. For solid preparation and clear communication for the presentations we'll make for goEnglish this month.

I can’t seem to shake it...

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...and honestly I feel as if I’ve taken two steps into the shallow end of the pool of problemas mundial. 

I’m exhausted.  We’ve had a very long day and it’s only the first day of an adventure that seems quite infinite.  I hear a longer, more mature rhythmic sound of air passing from the environment, through the nose, filling lungs and back out into the environment mixed with a quite similar rhythm although it’s much more quickly occurring.  It’s pristine.  The tiny nose and lungs easily fill and empty that same air.  My back aches and I wish this sterilized room had a more Lazy-boy like recliner, but who can complain with sounds like that taking priority.  Perspective man, perspective. 

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “So how does it feel?”

English teacher – “It’s beyond what I can explain, it’s just so good.  Me falta harto sleep, but it’s beyond worth it.”

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “I know!  Isn’t it amazing.  The mere idea of new life is beautiful.”

English teacher – “And you, how many kids would you like to have”

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “Remember, English Teacher, I had cancer when I was 19 and they had to take out everything.”

English teacher – “Lo siento.  I’m so sorry, I know, I remember you telling me that, I just didn’t realize, that.

Amazingly kind, energetic economist – “But I want to adopt so badly.  Think about how many little guaguitas are born everyday without someone who desires them, holds them and gives them cariño.”

English teacher – “That’s awesome.  Really that’s incredible.  Me and my wife hope to adopt some day as well”

Amazingly kind energetic economist – “I know, I can’t wait.”

English teacher – [Internally] “Perspectiva”

There’s a weight on his chest that is more valuable than gold as he turns westward onto Calle Hugo Bravo.  He’s proud, he’s chocho. 

“Hey, you’ve got a guagua in there don’t you?” 

“Yep, the kangaroo pouch is awesome.  He passes out the moment he slides in.” 

“How many semanas does he have?” 

“He’s 2 weeks old.” 

“Wow, can I see him…awwww.  He’s so cute.  You must be so chocho, so proud.” 

“It’s amazing to be a dad.  ¿Do you have any kids?”

“No, my wife never could get pregnant although we tried.  We really love the relationship    we’ve got with our nephews.  By the way, you’re not from around here are you?” 

“Nope, we’re gringos, we live up that away.” 

“Oh well it’s nice to meet you and welcome to our country.”

The little guy’s asleep and I feel that soft non-mature rhythm on my neck again.  He’s comfortable.  He’s warm.  His long frame has shrunken into that “before the non-mature rhythm making even started” stage.  He’s in his milk coma and I’m mildly relieved to know that there will be a few hours of tranquilidad.  When I take a glance to make sure those brown eyes aren’t still fighting back the heavy lids, it hits me.  The Sr. of the Jr. from which he got his second name (since none of his teacher’s will be able to pronounce it until second semester) never had his counterpart to pat Sr.’s back until the chanchitos were all out and could rest in his arms.  Why did the weight of little guy increase fifteen-fold and I feel as if my eyes were drowned in salty wetness?

I feel as if I could continue this list not only with this branch of thought, but in numerous others.

Life is beautiful and yet gut wrenching.  We must celebrate and yet we must mourn.

I’ve learned to resist the classic pregunta, “Where is God in all of this?” and start to question, “Where am I in this?”  Not an essay worthy nor complete and comprehensive answer, but it’s where I’m at, it’s how I deal with the anger and the joy.

If I’m purely intoxicated with my own state of being; my happy, my sad, my down, my satisfied, my thrilled or my gray, what good am I truly but to myself?  It’s this blessing and curse of community that leaves me a bit more balanced and hopeful.  Most importantly, it’s a necesidad, it’s what calls my attention when I so easily fall into the focus of my world, my situation, my status.

But like I said, this isn’t compete or comprehensive.  It’s a working paper.  

Having Babies in a Foreign Land: A Birth Story

Part 1

Of course you can’t predict or plan how exactly your labor and delivery experience will be.  Well, I take that back.  You can plan all you want, but you can’t expect those plans to work out.  In our case with Lil’ Man Coen, our birth story was everything we didn’t plan for and a whole lot more :)  

Chile has one of the highest C-section rates in the world.  I was thankful to find a doctor that was “pro-parto” (all for natural deliveries) and respected my strong desire to avoid a caesarean at all costs, unless medically necessary of course (duh).  The conversation we failed to have before my 40^th week of pregnancy, however, was the time frame that was acceptable for waiting.  Apparently in Chile, delivery is expected between 38-40 weeks.  But for this Gringa, (and a lot of other people and countries outside of Chile) I didn’t want to take any actions before Lil’ Man did until 42 weeks.  Whiiiiich can lead to some cultural tension, for SURE.

So we went in for a check-up at 40 weeks, 3 days.  No signs of labor any time soon.  Lil’ Man was quite comfortable it seemed, as we were with waiting.  But my doctor was concerned with the risks that come with waiting too long (loss of amniotic fluid, decrease in quality of the placenta, etc.) and wanted to try an induction. 

We should have stopped there, but we didn’t.

We decided to try it, and if it didn’t motivate Lil’ Man to start moving on down, we would stop and wait some more on our own.  We asked the doctor and midwife (and even the hospital admission lady who checked us in) various times to make sure that was ok, that we could stop the induction at any point.  They all said, of course.  

So Wednesday morning, at 40 weeks, 5 days, we get to the hospital to try the induction.  I thought it would be more like a doctor’s office visit, and was convinced it would most likely end with us going back home to wait and walk some more.  But when we got there, we checked in like we were staying for a few days.  They took all our information, took us to our room, explained visiting hours and how to work the TV.  I changed into my hospital paperish gown that was clearly not made for tall Gringas.  We waited in our room until a man with a wheelchair came to escort us down to the “’pre-delivery room.”  We took Lil’ Man’s first change of clothes in a little bag, even though I knew deep down we wouldn’t be meeting him that day.

We went down to the pre-delivery room.  It’s basically a large room with about 10 beds separated by curtains.  This is where you go from the time you’re admitted into the hospital in active labor until you are ready to deliver, when they take you to a separate room.  Then after delivery you go to your room, a typical hospital room, where you stay for the few days after.  It’s definitely not the nice private room with pretty wallpaper where you get to stay throughout you’re entire labor process and after, but you gotta work with what you got I guess.

Our midwife met us there and as she was hooking me up to the fetal monitor explained that we would try the induction for 2-3 hours and then do a C-section if my labor wasn’t progressing.  Again, should have gone with my gut feeling that day and stopped right there.  2-3 hours?  That seemed a little crazy.  And a C-section at 40weeks and 4days?  I don’t think so.

So as she’s literally telling me that I have no other options, and I’m trying to (nicely) explain that yes, there is another option called waiting longer, we both realize there has been a lack of communication somewhere.  And not even with the Spanish – When we asked about stopping the induction, we meant to go home and wait longer.  They meant to stop and just do a C-section.  I told her I needed to talk to Tracey “al tiro” - right now.  (For some odd reason they kept asking Tracey to leave…)  When she said “let me just start the IV with pitocin and then I’ll get Tracey to come in,” I used my best crazy-hormonal-pregnant-lady mean face to tell her that I didn’t know if we’d be staying and I needed to talk to him before we did anything at all. 

So as Tracey and I sat there in our not-so-private curtained bed area, we honestly had no idea what to do.  They told us if we left the hospital that day that we’d have to find a new doctor and a new hospital.  We knew what we wanted (not to rush into a C-section) but when you have multiple doctors telling you it’s a risk to wait any longer, you start to doubt yourself.  Not to mention the fact that I didn’t know how or if we could find a doctor in this scalpal-happy country willing to wait another week with us.

Somehow we were able to make the right decision in the midst of so much chaos, confusion, and pressure.  After another doctor came and explained the risks to us (again), we signed papers releasing the hospital from any liability, got wheeled back up to our room, packed our bags, and retraced our steps from that morning.

Still pregnant.