Birth Story
If I was writing a cheesey story about a pregnant woman, I'd use a lot of foreshadowing leading up to the delivery. For instance, I'd have her pack up her office on Friday, set out her FMLA papers on the desk in anticipation and not sign up for the Christmas potluck lunch the following week. All "just in case." I'd give her lots of contractions and have her time them while shopping at Home Depot and Target on Saturday night. On Sunday, after doing yardwork and finishing some dangling house projects, she'd lay down for a Sunday afternoon rest and read a book. I think the book would be "Baby Catcher: The Chronicles of a Modern Midwife" by Peggy Vincent. As she approaches the book's epilogue, she'd feel a slight twang somewhere in her insides, like a snapped rubberband. It's 4:45 pm.
I lay there, perfectly still, for a minute while my mind races around one thought, “Oh, crap.” I wait to see if I feel a gush, but there’s nothing. So I sit up. And feel my underwear and jeans get soaked through. Yeah, I thought so. I take a shower, change into some dry clothes and wander around the house for a few minutes wondering what I should do. The contractions aren’t any different than they’d been all week: about six minutes apart and noticeable but not gut-wrenching. After a few more I tell Ken, “I think I should call the doctor.” He looks alarmed and asks, “Why?” I tell him about the contractions. And then I mention the water breaking. He shifts into organized-excitement mode and takes a shower, throws the bags in the car, hooks up the carseat, takes care of the dogs and makes sure I’m okay. While he manages all of that I call the doctors answering service and get a return call within five minutes. The on-call doctor, not the one I’ve been seeing, says to go ahead and get checked at the hospital. It’s now 5:45 pm.
Ken drives very slowly and carefully to the hospital. The contractions are getting stronger and are now about five, and sometimes four, minutes apart. The hospital is about five miles from the house. We get checked in at 6:15, and we ride the elevator up to the third floor and the maternity triage center. I get strapped into monitors, a gown and have my cervix checked; it’s 3.5 cm. The presence of amniotic fluid is also checked and comes up negative. I am doubtful. They talk about sending me home and more than once someone says, “If you’re in labor, we might monitor you overnight.” The doctor decides that’s the proper course of action. By this time it’s a little past 7:00 pm, and the contractions are now two minutes apart. (If I’m in labor???) As a regular room is arranged for I mention to Ken, “One of my biggest fears is that this will progress too quickly and there won’t be time for an epidural.” Famous last words.
I have to pause a few times as we make our way across the hall and into the room. I start to have to really breathe and do deep sighs. I’m regretting not taking more extensive birthing and breathing classes. I have no idea what to do. I ask one of the nurses (who was very nice, but gave me the most painful IV start I’ve ever had - it still hurts today) if these are pretty strong contractions or am I just a wimp. She held my stomach during the next one and said, “Sweetie, you are not a wimp. Those are some big ones.” It was around this time that my memory gets blurry and spotty. I doze off somehow for a short time and am awoken by contractions of the Holy Crap variety. I asked Ken three times to go get the nurse or someone because I really want the epidural now. When he finally gets someone, they check my cervix again. "Call the doctor right now!" It’s completely dilated to 10 cm. There is no time for an epidural. It’s time to start pushing. Naturally. I panic a little and remember saying to Ken, “Oh no! See, I told you this would happen! Oh no! I can’t do this!” A doctor is scrambled for. It is about 9:15 pm.
I beg for something and they give me some Stadol, a narcotic pain killer. It helps me feel drunk, but I don’t know what it did for the pain. The doctor also did something to my nether-regions to help numb them. At least I think that’s what he said. I proceed to push for the next 2 hours and 40 minutes. Ken was there the whole time. A crew of nurses also helped, but I was miserable and scared. I remember saying a few times, “Please, help me,” and, “I give up, I can’t do this anymore.” I felt completely out of control, not lucid and not in my own head. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. It seemed to be never ending.
Eventually people start getting more excited, and I somehow find a tiny bit of strength in my reserves and crank down on my legs (Ken later told me he was scared I was going to break or dislocate something I was pulling so hard). They ask if I want a mirror which I adamantly decline and continue pushing. The doctor gives me a tiny episiotomy, and Adeline’s head comes out. A minute later I push again, and she is born. It is 12:00 am.
Everyone in the room is happy and cheering. My eyes open, and I feel like I’ve awoken from a bizarre dream. Look, there’s Ken. And Dr. Fields. And who are all these nurses? Someone places a wet, squirmy baby on my deflated stomach, and I stare, still in a stupor. They laugh a bit at my dazed reaction. Ken cuts the cord. The enormity of what just happens slowly sinks in as I recover my wits, my sanity and my composure (as much composure as someone who is in the midst of delivering a placenta can have…). I thank one of the nurses who helped me through the worst of it, and I apologize. She was aghast that I’d try to apologize. She complemented me and said I handled everything perfectly, she was impressed with how quiet and reserved I stayed and told me next time, I should definitely go natural, it would be a snap. I feel like I was a screaming banshee, but Ken assured me that I hardly said anything. At one point I did say, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” and everyone burst out laughing.
At first poor Adeline is rather funny-looking with a conehead and an alienesque, shocked expression. The doctor says she is beautiful. She has lots of dark hair. She goes through the wringer getting cleaned, evaluated, vaccinated and swaddled. I am shocked to hear she weighs 6 lb 10 oz; so petite! She scores a 9 and then a 10 on the Apgar, and the nurse keeps repeating, “I never give 10s!” They hand her to me. This is the first baby I've held. Her eyes are glistening from the antibiotic gel, her entire face is swollen, and she is wailing; she had a rough night too. We call my folks and Ken’s folks, and then everyone falls asleep.
The next two days are an absolute blur. I am sore, not just in the expected birth-related areas, but my arms, my shoulders, my back, my neck are all difficult to operate and they ache. This is what almost three hours of pushing will do, I guess. Ken and I meet with pediatricians, lactation consultants, doctors, nurses, photographers and a few visitors. We check out of the hospital on Tuesday at 1:00 pm with our daughter and go home.
Ken has been absolutely amazing. He hardly lets me change a diaper, and he interacts with Adeline at every chance. He’d feed her if he could I think. She is quite good, as far as I can tell, aside from being a bit nocturnal. She doesn’t like having her clothes taken off or her diaper changed, but will sleep just about anywhere and doesn’t mind the dogs barking or other noises. I’ve decided she’s rather cute, and I love the little noises she makes. I can’t wait for her to grow just a bit and her little chicken legs fill out. At her first pediatrician’s visit today, she was declared “Perfect.” With the minor exception of a little bit of jaundice.
There is so much more to say and record. I am tired. My bosom hurts. And I look a mess still. But, I made something pretty darn amazing, and so far I think it is worth it. :)
Since the baby is resting, I suppose I should too.
I lay there, perfectly still, for a minute while my mind races around one thought, “Oh, crap.” I wait to see if I feel a gush, but there’s nothing. So I sit up. And feel my underwear and jeans get soaked through. Yeah, I thought so. I take a shower, change into some dry clothes and wander around the house for a few minutes wondering what I should do. The contractions aren’t any different than they’d been all week: about six minutes apart and noticeable but not gut-wrenching. After a few more I tell Ken, “I think I should call the doctor.” He looks alarmed and asks, “Why?” I tell him about the contractions. And then I mention the water breaking. He shifts into organized-excitement mode and takes a shower, throws the bags in the car, hooks up the carseat, takes care of the dogs and makes sure I’m okay. While he manages all of that I call the doctors answering service and get a return call within five minutes. The on-call doctor, not the one I’ve been seeing, says to go ahead and get checked at the hospital. It’s now 5:45 pm.
Ken drives very slowly and carefully to the hospital. The contractions are getting stronger and are now about five, and sometimes four, minutes apart. The hospital is about five miles from the house. We get checked in at 6:15, and we ride the elevator up to the third floor and the maternity triage center. I get strapped into monitors, a gown and have my cervix checked; it’s 3.5 cm. The presence of amniotic fluid is also checked and comes up negative. I am doubtful. They talk about sending me home and more than once someone says, “If you’re in labor, we might monitor you overnight.” The doctor decides that’s the proper course of action. By this time it’s a little past 7:00 pm, and the contractions are now two minutes apart. (If I’m in labor???) As a regular room is arranged for I mention to Ken, “One of my biggest fears is that this will progress too quickly and there won’t be time for an epidural.” Famous last words.
I have to pause a few times as we make our way across the hall and into the room. I start to have to really breathe and do deep sighs. I’m regretting not taking more extensive birthing and breathing classes. I have no idea what to do. I ask one of the nurses (who was very nice, but gave me the most painful IV start I’ve ever had - it still hurts today) if these are pretty strong contractions or am I just a wimp. She held my stomach during the next one and said, “Sweetie, you are not a wimp. Those are some big ones.” It was around this time that my memory gets blurry and spotty. I doze off somehow for a short time and am awoken by contractions of the Holy Crap variety. I asked Ken three times to go get the nurse or someone because I really want the epidural now. When he finally gets someone, they check my cervix again. "Call the doctor right now!" It’s completely dilated to 10 cm. There is no time for an epidural. It’s time to start pushing. Naturally. I panic a little and remember saying to Ken, “Oh no! See, I told you this would happen! Oh no! I can’t do this!” A doctor is scrambled for. It is about 9:15 pm.
I beg for something and they give me some Stadol, a narcotic pain killer. It helps me feel drunk, but I don’t know what it did for the pain. The doctor also did something to my nether-regions to help numb them. At least I think that’s what he said. I proceed to push for the next 2 hours and 40 minutes. Ken was there the whole time. A crew of nurses also helped, but I was miserable and scared. I remember saying a few times, “Please, help me,” and, “I give up, I can’t do this anymore.” I felt completely out of control, not lucid and not in my own head. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. It seemed to be never ending.
Eventually people start getting more excited, and I somehow find a tiny bit of strength in my reserves and crank down on my legs (Ken later told me he was scared I was going to break or dislocate something I was pulling so hard). They ask if I want a mirror which I adamantly decline and continue pushing. The doctor gives me a tiny episiotomy, and Adeline’s head comes out. A minute later I push again, and she is born. It is 12:00 am.
Everyone in the room is happy and cheering. My eyes open, and I feel like I’ve awoken from a bizarre dream. Look, there’s Ken. And Dr. Fields. And who are all these nurses? Someone places a wet, squirmy baby on my deflated stomach, and I stare, still in a stupor. They laugh a bit at my dazed reaction. Ken cuts the cord. The enormity of what just happens slowly sinks in as I recover my wits, my sanity and my composure (as much composure as someone who is in the midst of delivering a placenta can have…). I thank one of the nurses who helped me through the worst of it, and I apologize. She was aghast that I’d try to apologize. She complemented me and said I handled everything perfectly, she was impressed with how quiet and reserved I stayed and told me next time, I should definitely go natural, it would be a snap. I feel like I was a screaming banshee, but Ken assured me that I hardly said anything. At one point I did say, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” and everyone burst out laughing.
At first poor Adeline is rather funny-looking with a conehead and an alienesque, shocked expression. The doctor says she is beautiful. She has lots of dark hair. She goes through the wringer getting cleaned, evaluated, vaccinated and swaddled. I am shocked to hear she weighs 6 lb 10 oz; so petite! She scores a 9 and then a 10 on the Apgar, and the nurse keeps repeating, “I never give 10s!” They hand her to me. This is the first baby I've held. Her eyes are glistening from the antibiotic gel, her entire face is swollen, and she is wailing; she had a rough night too. We call my folks and Ken’s folks, and then everyone falls asleep.
The next two days are an absolute blur. I am sore, not just in the expected birth-related areas, but my arms, my shoulders, my back, my neck are all difficult to operate and they ache. This is what almost three hours of pushing will do, I guess. Ken and I meet with pediatricians, lactation consultants, doctors, nurses, photographers and a few visitors. We check out of the hospital on Tuesday at 1:00 pm with our daughter and go home.
Ken has been absolutely amazing. He hardly lets me change a diaper, and he interacts with Adeline at every chance. He’d feed her if he could I think. She is quite good, as far as I can tell, aside from being a bit nocturnal. She doesn’t like having her clothes taken off or her diaper changed, but will sleep just about anywhere and doesn’t mind the dogs barking or other noises. I’ve decided she’s rather cute, and I love the little noises she makes. I can’t wait for her to grow just a bit and her little chicken legs fill out. At her first pediatrician’s visit today, she was declared “Perfect.” With the minor exception of a little bit of jaundice.
There is so much more to say and record. I am tired. My bosom hurts. And I look a mess still. But, I made something pretty darn amazing, and so far I think it is worth it. :)
Since the baby is resting, I suppose I should too.