10 weeks in the aftermath, she finally resurfaces, none too perfunctorily.
Well, hey there!
It's been ten weeks to the day since I unintentionally augmented my brood, laundry, stress, and waistline... And I am just now finally able to spend a few guiltily stolen moments to spew out an update. It is exceedingly unlikely that I will be able to finish this -lots to say- but I really want to try. For the sake of posterity, as well as those of you who may be wondering, and those of you who have tried in vain to get me to respond in the affirmative that I do, in fact, live -hi, Richard, I love you!- it's time to put down some memories... And unload some weighty, anxiety-ridden issues.
I'll do this in parts: Part I, The Day She Arrived
The wee hours of December 11, 2008: I awoke at 4:30 a.m., knowing that my alarm was set for 4:55, but beating it to the punch. I laid there in the dark and listened to the house being as silent all around me as it ever gets; knowing, too, that that morning was likely the last time for a long time that the house would be that silent at any hour. I rolled over on my right side, curling myself around the cumbersome evidence of life in my belly, life that had finally grown to the point where it no longer needed to remain comfortably ensconced inside me. Life that I was, sometime later that day, expected finally to meet. Life that I did not yet know, could only vaguely visualize... A thing that seems exceedingly strange to me now. As I lay there, arms wrapped protectively around that bump, I was full of doubts: Doubt that it was going to actually happen that day, doubt that it would be as easy as I'd been imagining, doubt that I or our home or our other children were in any way sufficiently prepared for this. But I was also full of peace: One way or another, she *was* coming out of me, and sooner rather than later. I couldn't wait to meet her, and was worried that meeting would be thwarted by the thing I had to do next.
I laid there, watching the clock, until it read 4:59. Soon enough, I thought; I picked up my cell phone and dialed the hospital's Labor and Delivery unit. A harrassed sounding nurse answered the call; I told her that I was scheduled for an elective induction that morning, and was wondering if I could still come in. She put me on hold, I balanced on the proverbial pins and needles. She came back on the line and told me that I was scheduled to be at the hospital for my induction at 7 a.m. Relief flooded through me, suddenly warming my face and nose and hands and feet, which I hadn't realized until just then were absolutely freezing. I thanked the nurse, closed my phone, and walked over to the window. Peering through a the slats of the blinds, I was relieved also to see that there was no ice or precipitation of any kind on the road. It had snowed the night before, and I was worried that the roads would be undrivable so early in the morning. But no, it was fine; ass cold out there, but fine for driving.
Falling gratefully back into bed, I went back to sleep for another hour. When I woke at 6, it was easy to get ready. I'd been prepared for days. Heavy sweatshirt -the red Abercrombie one, men's size medium, that I'd paid too much for just three weeks ago-, sweatpants, and the bag I'd packed sometime in November. Since I wasn't allowed to eat anything, there wasn't much else to do other than brush my teeth and put on my boots. I woke Steven up and told him I was leaving. The plan was for me to drive myself to the hospital while he drove Ash and Ainslee to daycare before meeting me in the hospital later.
The drive there was wonderful. The morning was freezing and crisp, with the kind of air that makes your ears and lungs ache, but in a good way. I listened to my ever-faithful, omnipresent Dave on the short drive over, trying not to think about anything but the task in front of me. The baby herself was very quiet and still this whole time, as if she was hoping not to be noticed, on the off chance that I wouldn't put her through the hell of being born. "Not a chance, baby girl, " I told her, patting at what I hoped was her head, located in the down position, where it should be. She responded by punching my bladder.
At the hospital, I was again plagued with doubt as to whether or not this was really going to take off today. Would they have a room? Did fifteen other women spontaneously flood the L&D unit in the last two hours, having suddenly gone into full labor? Or would something else prevent it? Would the baby have spun back up into a breech position? Would I go all the way through labor, only to have something else happen that would result in the dreaded C-section after all?
But no. After making me wait a good ten minutes, a very sweet-looking nurse, mid-forties with frizzy hair and small glasses, approached me and asked if I was Mrs. Ellis. I gave her the affirmative, and off we went to my room. This part I'd done before, three times before, in fact; I knew what to do, and did it with relieved alacrity. Change out of clothes into gown. Pee. Climb into the bed -made ready and replete with plastic sheets, meant to catch, you know... Fluids and stuff...- and allow the nurse to finish my medical history questionaire before plowing into my veins to start the IV.
That went smoothly and quietly enough. I answered her questions, she found a good vein, my drip was ready, but sans pitocin for the nonce. Leslie -that was my nurse's name- informed me that we had to wait for Dr. Strong to show up and break my water before she started the drip. Different from the last times, when they started the pitocin, let me start laboring, and *then* broke my water, sometime after four centimeters, but hey! Whatever. So long as the end result was the same.
Leslie showed me the room number and phone number to the room, then went to call the doctor. During that time, I realized that I was practically high on adrenaline, a little bit dizzy with anticipation, and ready to roll. I texted everyone I knew and gave them the room number, and let them know the show was about to get underway. Not long after that, Steven showed up. Shortly after that, Dr. Strong came in, looking cuter than is right for an obstetrician, and very confident. He grins a lot, does my OB. He's about my height, probably weighs less than me, has a goatee and brown eyes and brown wavy hair. Yeah, I was fairly dazzled by him, particularly after he successfully turned my baby and changed the outcome of my pregnancy. Anyway, he sauntered in, asked if I was ready, then without any pomp or preamble whatsoever, he broke my water. He talks through this whole process, kind of like he did while doing the version, so I wasn't quite sure he'd even done it; at first, there was just a trickle of fluid, but it increased as the morning wore on, surging into a gush every time I had a contraction. Dr. Strong informed Leslie that I was at 2 cm, about 75% effaced, and ready for pitocin; then he told me that he'd check on me again around noon. That was 8:00 a.m. or thereabouts, so I confidently told him that I fully expected him to be delivering me by noon. He chuckled and said, "We'll see." He's pretty spot-on, is Dr. Strong.
Leslie hooked me up and reminded me that, along with the pitocin, we had to start the penicillin drip, a thing that made my blood run cold and made me groan out loud. I am positive for Strep B, which means I have to have antibiotics for the entirety of the delivery, or otherwise run the risk of infecting the baby, who could suffer anything from an eye infection to meningitis if I'm not treated. Leslie asked me what was wrong, and I told her about the hell of getting the IV antibiotics while Ash was being born: It literally felt like my arm bone was being broken as the medication was filtered into my veins. Leslie promised to dilute the crap out of the offending drug, which she did; rather than feeling like my bone was being snapped, it only felt like someone was pouring white hot lead into the tissues of my arm. But it was bearable, and anyway, she was starting the pitocin, which occupied my mind enough to pretend the antibiotic wasn't torture. I told her to turn it up as much as she was allowed, I could take it. Leslie asked if I was planning on having an epidural. "Only if I need it, " I told her, feeling very confident about the whole thing by then. Oxytocin does that to a person. Makes a mother feel like bloody Supergirl for the first hour or so. Until the contractions kick in, at which time Supergirl is exposed to kryptonite and whimpers like an abused wife. Anyway, I wasn't planning on an epidural. Yet.
Around nine a.m., I was finally just beginning to feel the slightest of contractions, and was guffawing. Is that the best they can do, I wondered? It was about as annoying as a mosquito, nothing more. There was a knock on the door, which I thought would be another nurse or something, but in flounced Lorena! I was so startled and touched by her sudden appearance I almost started crying. She'd brought a lovely pink explosion of a door hanger that announced, "It's a Girl!", and hung it on the outside of the door to the room. Lorena told me she'd taken the day off, and intended to spend it with me. This was awesome news; the thought of spending the entire laboring process with no one other than Steven and some medical staff as company was dull and disheartening in the extreme. Lo parked herself in a chair and we started to chat. Steven announced that he was hungry, so I sent him off to the cafeteria to eat; just because I wasn't allowed to chow didn't mean no one else could, either. I was devouring ice chips with the single-minded voraciousness of someone on Ecstacy. Lo and I chatted and giggled and reminisced. We watched a movie on the DVD player in the room -damn, what was it? Oh! Forgetting Sarah Marshall-, and waited for my contractions to indicate that I really was on the way toward having a baby sometime that day. Which patently wasn't happening. I started to worry a bit, and called back in the nurse.
Leslie came in and asked about my pain. I snorted; was I supposed to be in pain? She obligingly turned up the drip, then asked again if I wanted to go ahead and get a prophylactic epidural. I snorted a second time and told her that if things didn't get more impressive down there, I wouldn't be needing no stinking epidural (apparently, the adrenaline was tainted with testosterone; I was a mutant superhero at that point). Leslie told me that there was a C-Section scheduled for noon, at which time all the anesthesiologists would be unavailable; if I suddenly decided I wanted the epidural at that time, I'd have to wait until the C-Section was over. It was about ten a.m. at that time; I asked Leslie to check and see how dilated I was, then I'd decide. She checked; only four centimeters. Damn. I told her I'd wait until 11 and see how my pain was then, before deciding.
Eleven a.m. came and went; I was still just not that impressed by the contractions, which I suspected weren't doing much in the way of promoting the descent of the baby. I was right; Leslie came in and turned up the pitocin again. Within fifteen minutes, I noticed a definite change in the intensity. Still bearable, but I wondered if they would still be so in another hour, at which time no one would be available to come give me an epidural if I wanted one. I talked it over with Lo and Steven, who agreed with me that probably I should go ahead and get the damn epidural, just in case. I mean, who wants to be in pain anyway, if they can avoid it? At 11:55 I called Leslie in and asked her if it was too late to get an anesthesiologist; she quickly made the call, and at 12:25, the anesthesiologist -what *is* it with the doctors in this hospital, are they ALL under 5'7??- came in and delivered the beginning of the end of sensation for my body below the waist.
In my three prior deliveries, the insertion of the epidural did not always go as planned. With Keegan, I was eight centimeters before they finally put the bloody thing in; but by the time they were done inserting the needle, and before they could actually begin delivering the pain medication, I was fully dilated and ready to push. So no epidural at all for the biggest baby of them all. I survived to tell about it. With Ainslee, I was in horrible pain from 3 cm on; turns out she was coming out at un unnatural angle, which made the delivery both more difficult and more painful. They tried to give me an epidural; it didn't work. The box that controlled the release of medication broke. So they came in to give me another one; that box wasn't working either. Ainslee was finally delivered, violently rending me to pieces in the meantime, and all without benefit of pain relief until after she was born; the fourth degree laceration and blood clots that ensued guaranteed me a several weeks' supply of Vicodin, however. With Ash, I wasn't taking any chances: They gave me a perfectly effective epidural at 3 cm, which rendered me numb until the next day. Ash was born without any complications, bells, or whistles: Two pushes, there he was. So of these three vignettes, guess which scene I preferred to relive? I mentioned as much to the anesthesiologist, who was apparently not only up to the task, but willing to go that little extra mile to make absolutely CERTAIN that I felt... completely... nothing.
By the time I laid back down from the (painful, I jumped, bad idea) insertion of the epidural, I couldn't feel my thighs. Ten minutes later, the rest of my legs had apparently disappeared. I discovered they were still there when I tried to move them; they were present, all right, and had unaccountably gained about thirty extra pounds each. I couldn't move the bloody things at all. For some reason, I found this profoundly hilarious. I couldn't stop giggling. I began to notice that I was also pleasantly light in the rest of my body, particularly my head. There was a very zen sensation all throughout my skull and arms and belly. What WAS that? Did he hit a nerve after all? Was I going to be retarded after this delivery? I mean, more so than usual?
Erm, no; I asked Leslie if there was something in the epidural aside from the epidural, to which she replied, "Ah, yes, I do think that particular doctor uses fentanyl with his epidurals." Well, hail Dr. What'shisname, then! For the next four hours, I was flying hiiiiiiiiiiigher than a brainless goose. Lo and Steven were laughing at me; I was slurring my words a bit, and talking a little nonsense, but managed to keep up my side of the conversation, which wasn't always the same conversation Lo and Steven were having with me.
Dr. Strong came back around 2 p.m. and checked me. I suppose, had I not been so pleasantly, thoroughly stoned, that I might have been more disappointed to learn that I was still only 5 cm. He suggested that Leslie catheterize me, to relieve the pressure of my bladder on the baby's head, which might allow her to descend more. The catheterization, which under normal circumstances approaches something akin to what they did to Jews in Nazi war camps, was a skip in the park; I felt nothing, and watched in dilated-pupil amazement as the urine bag filled up... and up... and up... Leslie, too, expressed dignified astonishment at the amount of pee I'd stored up on only ice chips. She assured me that after removing all of that apparent impediment, the baby would most assuredly come right on down.
By four p.m., the fentanyl was starting to wear off a bit, and so was my sense of humor. My legs were still dead to the world; my right one in particular seemed to be snoring out loud, and absolutely refused to respond to any of my brain's commands for it to move this way or that. I was also beginning to feel rather naseous; an hour or so earlier, Lo had snuck me a mini Butterfinger bar and a sip of her Dr. Pepper. I was now lamenting those choices, as I knew that once I puked, the gig was up and I'd be in trouble for the unidentifiable brown stuff that would give me away. I told Leslie I was feeling sick; she said my blood sugar was probably dropping, and obligingly put a bag of glucose on my drip. I felt better almost immediately. Dr. Strong came back in around 5 and told me that he was heading home, but that Leslie would let him know when it was go time and he could be back at my bedside within ten minutes. I looked at him dubiously, and informed him that I could do this without him, if need be. He laughed and promised to be back when he was summoned. He was sitting on the edge of my bed, and I tried to kick him, which reminded me that I couldn't move my legs. I told him that I was worried about my ability to properly push if I was this numb, and furthermore, I couldn't tell what was what down there, so how would I know if it *was* time to push? Could I please have the epidural turned off? At least until I reach nine cm or so?
Surprisingly, he refused. He said that if I were to suddenly feel the intensity of those contractions that I might not be able to push at that time, either, due to stress from the pain. I again gave him my most dubious face, coupled with my best hang-dog expression: Could I **please** be allowed to feel my legs again? I don't really feel at all like I'm doing any of the work, here, which is pretty demeaning to a woman. He shook his head, promised again to be back when called, and disappeared.
I stared after him in astonishment. The man told me I could not stop my own pain medication. I looked at Leslie, gestured feebly at my legs, at which point the right leg fell straight off the bed. She got the message. "We'll turn it off just until you can feel again, then we'll turn it back on, okay?" I grabbed her hand and kissed it as she reached for the epidural box.
Around that time, Lo decided it was time to go to dinner; she promised to be back before the Telling Moment as well. I'd been getting texts and phone calls all day from dozens of interested folks, all of them asking, "WTF? Shouldn't you have had at least two kids by now??" I agreed. I could not believe this was taking so long, and began to despair of actually delivering before midnight. As the feeling came back into my lower body -but not my right leg, which remained stubbornly immune to feeling of any kind- I began to think my theory was correct. I could feel the contractions, mostly only on my left side, and could tell that they were at last doing what they were supposed to do. By six p.m., I knew it was getting close, and was about to call Leslie to tell her to check me again when all of society suddenly exploded into my room.
It had been just me alone at that moment. Suddenly, my room was filled with the presences of those arriving at a time when they thought they would be meeting my newborn, instead of a fat, numb, nominally high lady with a bag of pee attached to her nether-regions. My father, his girlfriend Marci, Mike and Jennifer from CPS (I'd asked Jennifer to please remember to take off her badge before visiting my room; she of course FORGOT to do so anyway), Skippy and his little girl, Steven's grandmother and great-aunt, Ash and Ainslee (whom Steven had rushed over to pick up just before six, because the school was going to close and he didn't want to miss the pivotal moment of delivery), and probably someone else I'm forgetting. Because just as they all crowded into my room, I felt that tell-tale shift in my pelvis, a certain and intense sensation that I cannot describe, but knew instinctively exactly what it meant the last three times I'd felt it: I was about to have a baby. That sensation, I knew from experience, meant I was actually all but crowning. I tried to smile and remain sanguine and thanked everyone for coming, then calmly suggested that they all remove themselves to the waiting room, unless they wanted to witness the actual arrival. Rarely have I seen a room clear out so quickly.
I called for Leslie, who came in right away and checked me, verifying what I already knew: The baby was *right there*, and ready to make her debut. She rushed to the phone and called Dr. Strong, then assured me that he would be there momentarily. She began readying the room and calling in reinforcements. They dropped the foot of my bed, and helped me get into a comfortable position (I still couldn't move that right leg, and wondered dimly if I ever would again?). Steven came back in, having situated Ash and Ainslee with my father's girlfriend out in the cafeteria. "Is it really that close?" he asked. I nodded, grimaced, and told him -loudly, so the rest of the nurses would hear me- that I doubted Dr. Strong was going to make it in time to catch, because the baby wasn't having any of this waiting crap. Leslie chuckled, and right at that moment, Dr. Strong stepped through the door, this time wearing jeans and a button down. He grinned and told me I'd taken my time about it, and I told him I took my cues from him.
It was now 6:50 p.m., and I was ready to push. Dr. Strong put on his scrubs, told me to assume the position, and took a look; he said, "Ready when you are, she's right there," we waited for the next contraction, and I pushed. Steven was holding my dead right leg; he snuck a peak and said, in complete wonderment, "She IS blonde!" We'd both been sure that this one would be blacker than the devil, but apparently not. I pushed for the requisite count of ten, then asked if I could sit up straighter. Without waiting for an answer, I struggled myself into an almost upright and sitting position; from this vantage point, I could see the whole thing, the first time that I'd been allowed to be in such a position for birthing. I pushed to another count of ten, waited for the next contraction, then pushed again. My coaches were very quiet; Dr. Strong was the only one saying, "Push, push, good job, awesome, excellent, perfect...." while Leslie and Steven counted. Before they got to ten the second time, Dr. Strong said, "Okay, stop, you're done pushing!" I opened my eyes and watched in complete wonderment as the rest of my tiny, perfect baby girl came sliding out of her own accord into the doctor's hands. It was 6:57 p.m. She was crying already, a soft, almost sweet little cry, not the shriek of Ainslee, or the broken-hearted wailing of Ash and Keegan, but more of a pitiful, "Dammit, I was HAPPY in there!" kind of sound.
She broke my heart and filled it up entirely in that one moment of her peaceful entry into this world.
My first thought was, "My God, she's perfect!" And she was; her head was perfectly round and clearly blonde; her eyes, open from the get-go, were this startlingly bright sterling blue; her body was perfectly proportioned, and looked just like a doll. My second thought was, "My God, she's so tiny!" Dr. Strong let Steven cut the cord, then they put Blakely Anya London Smith in my arms; she stopped crying immediately and nuzzled up under my chin. I laid back, cuddling her like a mother bear, amazed at the tiny perfection of her. "She's so little," I said, to no one in particular. "I doubt she's even six pounds!" Leslie heard me, sized Blakely up with her eyes, and said, "Yeah, she's six pounds. But not much more than that."
My third thought was, "EW, why does she still have so much vernix on her?" Because she did, more than any of my other kids. Oh, but she was amazingly perfect; her skin was pink from the first second, and completely unmarred by any marks of birth. She did look like a doll, too perfect to be quite real. Steven took some video, I cooed and nuzzled for a few minutes, and then the new nurses took her away to be weighed, measured, and wrapped up. Leslie, whose shift was over but who stayed with me to the end, came and gave me a hug and congratulations. Someone called out, "Six pounds, four ounces, and 20 inches long!" I was in a haze of contentedness and amazement. She was everything I'd hoped for, nothing like I'd imagined. They wrapped her in blankets, put a hat -that I would remove immediately- on her head, and handed her back to me. She was magical. After all the worry, she was here: Hale and healthy and probably the most beautiful newborn I'd ever seen, albeit small.
So ends Part I, and none too soon; Keegan is presently feeding that entity of perfection, and things aren't going well. See, as perfect as she appeared then, turns out that -true to my progeny- she is, in fact, not well. So the usual journey of parenthood began, and started down an uncertain path, one that we are still navigating with no small measure of trepidation.
Part II soon to come... More for me, for posterity, but you're welcome to as much of it as you can stand.
Love!