This is what happens when you leave me in charge of anything. I forget to bring a camera to my firstborn daughter's birth. Yeah, I can't believe they let me leave the hospital with her either. So this pic was taken with John's Palm Pilot, one of the first incarnations.
**************
To get caught up with the story....
***************
I snapped awake out of a deep sleep very suddenly. My head was slightly fuzzy from the sleeping pill, my brain a little confused as to where I was. I forced my eyes, blurry from weeks of high blood pressure, to focus on the clock, and finally was able to make out that it was 3 am. "Well," I reasoned, "If I'm going to be awake at 3 am, I might as well go to the bathroom, I'm just going to have to pee in an hour anyway." Getting up to go to the bathroom was no small task when you were 37 weeks pregnant and carrying around approximately 30 pounds of swelling.
I swung my sausage legs over the side of the bed, and as I stood up, a huge rush of liquid gushed from between my legs.
"Holy shit." I whispered. I definitely hadn't wet myself, so I knew exactly what had happened. And why I had suddenly awoke from a deep slumber.
"John! Wake up! NOW!" I snapped at him sharply. He sat straight up, startled. "My water just broke! Call the nurse!"
She came in and confirmed it was indeed amniotic fluid everywhere. We got cleaned up as best we could (that stuff never stops coming. I was astonished at the amount which continued to leak out all morning long.) and they got me back into bed. Not for long, however, because the contractions started coming. Oh my, did they ever come. I was fortunate enough to have back labor, which is no joke. I thought I was tough, I thought I had a great pain tolerance, but the pitocin induced back labor was just way too much for me. I tried walking through the contractions per the nurse's suggestions, only to make it one lap around before I was asking, no, begging for an epidural, or drugs of any kind, really. I had originally wanted to go as natural as possible for as long as possible, but I will totally admit it-the strength and power of those contractions completely overwhelmed me.
The anesthesiologist, who was a total JERK, by the way, finally made it to my room, angry at being woken at five am. Um, dude? You're on call for a labor and delivery unit overnight. Maybe you should get over the anger? It's kind of to be expected, I would think. Not to mention you're going to bill my insurance for 2 grand for 15 minutes of your time. I would think that would ease the pain.
The epidural was placed, and I was a happy girl. I was only dilated a couple of centimeters, so I was given more pitocin and advised to rest while it did it's thing. I tried as best as I could, what with student nurses coming in to give me catheters (sure! I can't feel my legs! Go for it!) and nurses flipping me from side to side like a slab of beef every hour (it helps progress labor, apparently). Around 1 PM, a very not-nice nurse came in, roughly rolled me over, checked me, and told me to start getting ready-I was at 8 cm, finally. After she left, I really started feeling pain. I thought it was from the advanced stage of my labor, but then I realized it was more than that...I was beginning to feel everything, without the haze of the numbing narcotics.
My mom finally arrived, straight from the airport, around 3, just in time for me to start pushing. I was feeling some hard core contractions-it literally felt like someone was tearing my hips off my torso much like my brother used to maim my Barbie dolls. Gone was the last shred of my dignity when they set me up to push-feet in the stirrups, spotlight brought down from the ceiling. At least I still had my sense of humor-"Well, if I didn't feel like a porn star before, I sure do now," I joked to the nurses.
I began pushing. The pain-undescribable, really. There are no words to do it justice. The only way I knew how to cope was to be completely silent. I breathed, and I pushed. I felt like speaking or screaming or anything would waste energy that could be used to get this thing out of me as quickly as possible and make this stop now.
I pushed for three and a half hours. Yes, you read that right. Three and a half hours. John had even walked across the room and joked, "Punt her to me, babe!" thinking that pissing me off would somehow inspire me. Don't worry, he paid for it later. I tried everything anyone could think of. I had mentioned that my pain level was about a 179 on a scale from 1-10 and that I could feel everything, but I was assured that was normal. Around 5:30 pm, though, things changed from frustrating to scary-during one push, her heart rate dropped all the way to 70. Another push, down to 55. Jen, my doctor, had been with me for two straight hours. She looked at me seriously. "I don't feel comfortable continuing labor. I would be happy to go on if she was stable, but with her heart rate dropping-I don't want to risk anything. We still have a long way to go and I think a c-section is our best option." I was going to argue, but at that moment, the lub-dub that was being broadcast through the room slowed down again, without the stress of pushing....I looked over and saw an 80 on the monitor. "Let's do it," I agreed, my concern overwhelming any birth plans I had made. My wishes seemed silly at the moment-I didn't really care how she got out, as long as she got out okay.
The entire mood in the room changed swiftly. The pace changed from a marathon to a sprint. I was being prepped for surgery, and being prepped quickly. Someone rolled me over to change my epidural medicine to something more appropriate for surgery, and confirmed what I had suspected all along-jerk nurse had pulled out my epidural while turning me hours earlier, and I had indeed been going drug free during the intense, pitocin induced labor. Awesome. I was informed I would need a spinal in the OR, and we were whisked down the hall.
I was crying my face off. Not because I was worried, but because of the pain-pushing through contractions makes them tolerable, but having to just lay there through them? Unbelievable. I was begging everyone, anyone, to just make it stop. They wheeled me into the OR, with John and my mom having to wait outside until I was prepped and draped. They sat me up for the spinal, which hurt. Like a mofo. I won't lie. I laid down to be prepped and started freaking out-I wasn't numb whatsoever. I could feel every swipe of the cold iodine over my belly. They assured me they would not cut into me until I was completely numb, and that they would try the spinal one more time-but if it didn't take, I would be put completely under, and John would not be allowed in the room-basically, that Madeline would be welcomed into the world alone. I lost it.
Thankfully, the second spinal took, and wow, did it take. I was high as a kite, friends. At least I wasn't crying anymore. John and my mom were allowed in, and I was cracking jokes with everyone who would listen to me mumble. I was convinced my legs were falling off the table, but I was assured 43 times that they were indeed strapped on and not going anywhere. Then the c-section began. It is the weirdest thing-you can feel the pressure of everything that is happening, of being cut open and pulled apart and the baby being lifted out, but none of the pain. John watched the entire procedure over the drape-freaking weirdo.
I felt her pulled out, then heard the cry. The sweetest cry ever. 6:23 pm, on April 12th, 2005. I was officially a mother. They lifted her over the drape so I could see her, and I welcomed my child by promptly throwing up. That's another strange feeling-vomiting while you're numb from the neck down. It kind of just flows out of you.
I began to be sewn back together, and my daughter was brought around to me. Despite a nasty bruise along her head where she had been hitting my pubic bone (girlfriend was going nowhere. 16 hours of labor in vain. AWESOME.) she was perfect. Breathtakingly beautiful and perfect. 6 lbs, 2 ozs, 18 inches-a tiny little bundle of beautiful.
I was in love.
Posts
