Personal – The Salty Exchange

Shari’s Birth Story

November 30, 2022December 1, 2022by thesaltyexchangeLeave a Comment

It feels a little surreal to write this. I read so many birth stories leading up to my own experience that they all seemed to blend together. As an Event Planner by profession, I kept reminding myself that every birth is a highly anticipated event… it starts, it happens, it’s over, and you recover. Like my pregnancy, I was hoping for a fairly textbook birth and for the most part that is exactly what I got. But so. much. better. I finally got to meet Koralyn and there are truly no words for that moment. I certainly had none. She was perfect, her dimples melted me instantly, and every ounce of energy and intensity that her birth took was worth it. Here is the story of my labor and Koralyn’s arrival.

My birth story starts 9 days past my due date (which was July 8th, 2022), we planned an induction on Sunday, July 17th. Alex and I arrived at the hospital at 7:45 am. A nurse came in and hesitantly asked me if I was okay having “Hilary” as my nurse, it took me a moment to realize that she was referring to MY FRIEND, Hilary. Ummm yes I want her as my nurse! Honestly it took a little of my nerves away knowing that I had a friend there with me (along with my husband and mom). It took several failed attempts and eventually calling the specialist to come get my IV put in (Hilary opted not to poke me so none of those tries were done by her). The whole IV port process took nearly 3 hours, thanks to my deep veins apparently. At some point during the IV debacle my mom arrived. Around 11 am we started the Pitocin. Hilary increased it every 30 minutes until my contractions showed they were moving along nicely. Bored, Alex, my mom, and I sat there chatting watching my contractions increase and joking about how long this process was going to take. Eventually Alex propped up his phone and we watched an episode of “Skinwalker Ranch” (the first season is on Netflix… so good!). I sat on the round inflatable ball bouncing while eating a popsicle. Not long after the episode ended around 1:50 pm, I was enjoying the second half of my popsicle when I suddenly I felt the GUSH. My water broke! It was like a scene from a movie; water surrounding me, pure shock on my face, and everyone in disbelief over the amount of liquid on the floor. CLEANUP ON AISLE THREE!!! Hilary laughed right along with us and helped me get out of my soaking wet leggings and clothing.

The next few hours were a blur for me as my contractions went from super manageable to more intense and painful. After a few contractions brought literal tears to my eyes (I like to think I have a high pain tolerance), I gave my mom and husband a look of defeat… “I think I want an epidural.” Hilary, came to confirm and I started to cry a little. She asked me if it was because I was in pain or if it was because of asking for the epidural or both… crying a little harder I said “both”. It was true. I wanted to be stronger, I wanted to labor naturally, BUT I had always been open to having an epidural (especially after being induced) – I just truly thought labor wasn’t going to be so instantaneously rough. The best way I can describe the intensity of the contractions (at that point) was sharp but dense pain that reverberated through my whole entire body. Similar to cramps but way more intense and add in an entire body experience that makes your eyes water and your teeth clinch even through concentrated breath work. Although I felt defeated by the waves of pain, I reminded myself that this was all a part of my birth plan, it was okay, normal, and all that mattered was getting the baby out safely. Why not do so with a little help from an epidural?

The epidural was quick and painless, it worked effectively on my left side but my right side was barely numb. Thanks to my Birth Class I knew that the epidural moves and disperses with gravity so if I leaned to my right side it would help the epidural numb that area, which it totally did. At this point it was after 4 pm and I was a solid 5 hours into labor. I had progressed incrementally with dilation and effacement but felt like I still had a long way to go. Contractions had settled some and the epidural was doing its job, I relaxed enough to realize I was hungry but I wasn’t allowed many options. My dinner consisted of chicken broth and ANOTHER popsicle (man, those popsicles sure tasted good!). I met my new nurse who came onto shift at 7 pm and said good-bye to Hilary. Bummed that she didn’t get to help deliver Koralyn, I was so thankful to have her by my side through those first hours of laboring and the epidural.

My new nurse, Anna, chatted with me about hiking and I instantly liked her. Alex took a few photos as we joked about the names of the positions I was laboring in… one was called “The Throne” and I kinda felt like a very pregnant queen, ha. Anna, Alex, and my mom helped me change positions, because of the epidural I was numb and my legs were like tree trunks, moving me was a team effort. My contractions remained consistent. At some point in the next hour or two I transitioned… my mom was there and ready for her moment to hand me the blue bag to vomit into, she knew I would get nauseous and most likely throw up. How did she know? Because she always did during her labor transitions. Like mother, like daughter… I definitely threw up. I wasn’t prepared for the uncontrollable shivering, my body reacting to birth in a way I never thought it would. I sat there shivering looking at my husband like, “What is wrong with me?”

At this point, all the signs were there for my nurse to check me and see how far along I had progressed. Sure enough at 10 pm, I was 10 cm dilated, 100% effaced and ready to start pushing. They called my OB and she told them to wait until she arrived for me to start pushing. I remember feeling pressure in the beginning and middle of my contractions. I focused on that feeling and knew that was my body’s natural rhythm. At 10:45 pm my OB had arrived and we started the continuous game of push for a count of 10 – in the same position for at least 4-5 pushes – then switch positions and start over again and that routine is what I FOCUSED everything on. After pushing for 2 hours, my OB got called out to the hallway. Based on hospital policy they don’t like women to push for over 3 hours. However, my blood pressure was good and the baby’s heart rate was steady so there wasn’t any cause for concern. I kept pushing and my doctor declined their offer to prep the OR. She told me later that she said, “My girl is getting this baby out in the next hour!”

When my OB came back after that conversation out in the hallway she turned into a vocal cheerleader and I am not joking when I say the whole room turned into a cheering match. I had been laboring for just over 13 hours at that point and pushing for 2, I was ready. I found a position that felt strong and I stayed there counting through contractions with my mom and my husband by my side. My OB grabbed my hand to touch Koralyn’s head (even though I didn’t think I would want to) it gave me the motivation I needed to get her out completely. I knew I was close when I saw my mom and husband tearing up. We were about to meet our little girl. Koralyn got cheered into the world at 1:57 am. A little over 3 hours of pushing to get my girl earth side and it was worth every – hunched over, count to ten, burst of energy – moment.

She was placed on my stomach in what felt like an instant but they somehow managed to wipe her down and cut my top so quickly I didn’t even notice. Everything happened so fast and then slowed down to a very intimate and calm introduction. I held Koralyn, looking at her sweet face and then peering up at my husband and mom saying, “I did it, we did it, she is here! Look at these dimples!” I barely noticed delivering the placenta and Alex cutting the cord. I remember wanting them to weigh her but they insisted I take my full hour of post-birth skin to skin time. It was blissful. We stayed another day so they could check all of her (and my) vitals and take some tests before we got the clearance to go home.

I don’t think I would have believed you if you told me that would be our story but I am so thankful and grateful that it is. A positive birth experience is what I was hoping for and exactly what I got. The real postpartum didn’t start until after we left the hospital and I will save all those details for another blog.

Shari: Family Reunited

August 30, 2021August 30, 2021by thesaltyexchangeLeave a Comment

I contemplated not sharing this story because it is so new and extremely personal. The irony of that sentence is that it goes against all the reasons we started The Salty Exchange. We started this blog to get personal, to be vulnerable, and to share stories in order to relate and connect with anyone who follows along. So here it goes… after 60 years apart, my mom reunited with her half brothers Joe and Eric in June (this year) and I met my uncles for the first time a few weeks ago.

It is a tragic and confusing story as to why Joe and Eric were sent into foster care. A story that doesn’t reflect well on my grandma (no matter which way you try to explain it) but we suspect it was the fact that she had a mixed and blended family which was a bit unprecedented at the time. Regardless, they were just little kids; my mom was 6 years old, Joe was 4, and Eric was only 2. My mom fiercely loved her brothers and one day while she was at school (or so her mother thought), the state workers came and picked up her brothers. They coaxed Joe away with the promise of food. My mom knew something was happening that day and skipped school to hide in the bushes, she cried watching her brothers get taken.

I will spare you from the details of what life was like for my mom. She had a rough childhood and there was never a moment when she didn’t think about her sweet little brothers. My grandma told her she was never allowed to talk about Joe and Eric. I know… too much to demand of a 6 year old but my mom was scared just enough to obey. My mom had two older half brothers and besides Joe and Eric she had another two younger half brothers. Six brothers in total.

Growing up my mom never kept secrets from us, I knew my entire life that I had six uncles (not four) and that Joe and Eric were out there somewhere. Their names would make it into my nightly prayers and I dreamed of meeting them someday. In 2019, my grandma passed away and a few months later I asked my mom if she was going to start the search for her brothers. She said she didn’t know where to begin and honestly thought maybe they didn’t want to be found.

Fast forward to this Spring 2021… My aunt was calling old adoption agencies and around the same time my mom saw an ad on Facebook called People Whiz. My mom typed in her brother’s birth name and birth date (yes, that is how much they meant to her that after 60 years she still remembered these details). Sure enough Joe’s name popped up and connected to it was Eric’s name and details. My mom quickly realized that they still lived in the same state, they still had their birth names, and Eric had kids. My aunt and mom joined forces and the plan to contact them began.

They eventually found out that my uncles are ‘mountain men’ who have little to no service at their property. My aunt made contact with Eric’s daughter and although she was skeptical (who wouldn’t be) she realized that this contact was from a legitimate family member and the process of reuniting these siblings began. Thankfully Joe and Eric were receptive and excited when Eric’s daughter told them the news. Apparently Joe had tried and failed to find their family previously (which makes sense because my mom’s name changed when my grandma re-married). Before their reunion in June of this year I was talking to my mom and I asked her how she was feeling about everything. With tears in her eyes she said she felt really excited and a little nervous.

I’d like to take a moment to note that I’ve really struggled with my mom’s life story. I can’t quite fathom how her childhood could have been so awful yet she is the most beautiful person inside and out that I’ve ever met. It makes me angry when people dismiss her. My mom has a quiet but sincere presence and is the least demanding person I know. I pay close attention to how my family and friends interact with her and treat her. These days I can clearly see how my mom broke the cycle of abuse and neglect by raising us the opposite of what she experienced; she was and still is the absolute best mom. My brothers and I consider ourselves extremely blessed.

Needless to say, the reunion in June went well. When Joe first saw my mom he said that he remembered seeing her in the bushes crying all those years ago when he and Eric were taken from their home. My mom nodded, cried, and hugged him. Their first embrace in 60 years. Eric confirmed he didn’t remember much other than what he had heard from his brother. My mom told Joe how he got the scar on his face, she shared stories of their childhood… all the stories she had held onto for these years and her brother’s learned more about their past. The reunion was beautiful. My cousin’s husband filmed it all and I can’t watch it without crying and feeling all the emotions.

Now several months later (mid-August), it was my turn to meet my uncles and cousins. I couldn’t believe how sweet and funny my uncles were. Eric, his son, and his daughter came to visit and I could hardly wait to hug him and my cousins and meet their families. The following day my Uncle Joe rode up on his motorcycle and he looked equally shocked and happy when I popped out of the car and said “I’m your niece!” Both Joe and Eric made jokes about ‘betcha never knew we existed’ but it’s quite the contrary… I did know they existed and I had thought about them so much growing up. I am overjoyed that I finally have been able to hug them, laugh with them, talk to them, and learn about them and their lives. I also feel the same with my cousins! Eric’s daughter has a striking resemblance to our grandmother (all her best features) and she has such a positive personality, you can’t help but want to be around her. My other cousin is hilarious, he is easy going like his dad and adds the perfect amount of sarcasm to the conversation. I can’t wait to keep learning more about them and spending time with them.

Families are complex and I know many reunion stories that hold so much resentment and anger. I am grateful for a family that can look past the tragedies of the past and come out stronger and full of joy and appreciation for the present moments. We don’t understand why things happen the way they do but I sure am amazed with how everything works out. That is my story of our reunion… my mom’s sweet brother’s, my uncles, my cousins, our family.

Really the story is just beginning.

Kendall On Hispanic Heritage

October 15, 2020by thesaltyexchangeLeave a Comment

It’s October 15th (at the time of this writing)! And that means it is the last day of Hispanic Heritage Month in the US! I am very proud to be Hispanic. I am proud of what being Hispanic means to me. As a daughter of two different backgrounds, there has always been a struggle to accept what it means to identify as “White” or “Hispanic.” Unfortunately, there are so many expectations about WHO I must be or HOW I must act to be considered either one. It’s an unfair reality to put on a person- especially when I was a young kid.

From an early age, I always felt a little different. In first grade, my teacher asked all students up to her desk (individually) to discuss different things about our home life and our progress at school. When asked if English was the only language spoken at home, I answered no. Sure, everyone spoke English but my mom ALSO spoke Spanish. That evening my mom received a phone call asking about her Spanish speaking and if it was often, in front of the kids, if it would affect the family, and how long she had spoken it. Spanish was my mother’s primary language for a very long time. She learned English as a young kiddo and as an adult spoke with absolutely no accent when speaking English. She was, what we sexily call today, bilingual. Yup, I said it, sexily. Being able to speak two languages is super appealing to employers, colleges, friends, etc. I might also add that in my experience, it is more sexy if you are White and speak two languages. It’s a privilege whereas if you are me, it is an expectation and not something to be proud of because it is an inherent part of who I am supposed to be. Here’s the kicker- I don’t speak Spanish. Latinos everywhere are divided on if this makes me “less” of a Hispanic. Questions have risen over the years that totally shamed me and made me question my own identity.

After that first phone call home from my first grade teacher, my mother told me to not tell anyone that she spoke Spanish. She didn’t want me to be treated differently. It wasn’t until middle school that I began taking Spanish and, by then, it was really hard. I never did particularly well in Spanish class. I had a great accent but was terrible at learning the proper grammar of Spanish. My grandparents (who are fluent Spanish speakers) would help me with my homework and I wouldn’t pass my assignments because while my Spanish was “technically” correct, it wasn’t proper. From a sociological perspective, I sort of followed the course of assimilation without trying. I am a third generation Hispanic woman and, sadly, around that time language is often lost within families. It wasn’t intentional on my part. The language was just never the most important part of being Hispanic. I learned how to make Mexican Christmas cookies from a young age and make Cascarones at Easter. I can proudly down a plate of pan dulce by myself- which I really shouldn’t brag about. I loved learning the different genres of Mexican music that my grandparents introduced me to. My husband has continued my education of music and is always introducing me to new Latino artists and sounds. Growing up, family was the most important thing and being part of the collective was paramount. Yet, I was not enough. I was different because I was proud of my family’s heritage yet I wasn’t “Hispanic enough” for others. Talk about a mind f^#k.

When my husband and I moved to Spain in 2016, I was sort of thrust into HAVING to learn Spanish. I learned the basics and could get by! Spain Spanish is muy diferente than what I grew up with so it took some time to adjust to the beautiful accents, rhythms, and tones of my new home. I was able to shop, give directions, dine, and muddle through conversations with friends and neighbors (with loving help). Heck, I even had to go to the ER by myself when my husband (a Spanish fluent, Mexican-American, first generation, handsome devil) was on TDY (that’s military for temporary duty) in Norway. That’s when I knew I could survive by myself! But it was still hard.

My daughter is ¾ of legitimate Hispanic beauty. We are trying our best to teach her Spanish but it is not easy. It requires a lot of consistency and repetition. I can do a little bit of that but it mostly falls on my husband to do the real work of it. My hope for her is that she embraces her ethnic identity on her terms; that she decides what it all means to her. There is no one right way to be anybody! Therefore, she has the right to define her life on her terms. All we can do is show her who we are in our identities.

As I said at the beginning, I am proud to be Hispanic. I am proud of my own understanding of my culture and the things that matter to my Hispanic part of the family. I am sure someone might see me as “less” or “inauthentic” and that’s fine- that’s a reflection of them and how they understand they need to live their culture. I can’t shame them for not seeing life the way I do- they haven’t lived my life! I am usually pretty envious that people are better Spanish speakers than me or know these amazing things about the culture that I don’t! I wish I was better at actively living some parts of the culture that my blood belongs to. I am always looking for ways to connect with that (literal) half of myself. I am thankful to belong to two different cultures- it’s a privilege that I thank the universe for. Happy Hispanic Heritage Month, all!