All By Myself!

Now that I've had some sleep and shed my horrid hospital gown in favor of Hubs' soft green pajama bottoms and my chibi Batman tee shirt, I'm ready to delve into the saga of giving birth to a Tempest.

Tuesday evening Hubs, Mama, The Ginge and I spent a marvelous few hours rolling dice and pretending to be characters in a Dungeons & Dragons kind of world. We ate pizza, chips and dip and drank soda and generally enjoyed the hell out of ourselves. 

Once everyone else took their leave, Hubs and I settled down in the living room to unwind before bed. A little before 10:00 pm, I felt a strange sort of "pop" between my hips and suddenly there was water all over me. I jumped up so as to avoid flooding the living room and rushed for the loo. Except Pooka was in there, going through her evening routine. All things considered, she was exceptionally gracious in having been rather unceremoniously ejected from the bathroom.

It was near 11:45 pm when, having made arrangements with our fabulous neighbors (who didn't threaten homicide when I called them at 10:45 at night) for Pooka to be supervised overnight and having loosed a veritable Lake Superior on three poor, unsuspecting beach towels and a regular bath towel - he asked for it - we arrived at The Big Hospital.

As was to be expected, the very nice nurses hooked me up to monitors, called in the resident to make sure that yes, my membranes had actually ruptured and I was indeed having some contractions. 

It didn't take long for the damnable things to get stronger though. I was desperate to get up and move around and get into the room's tub. Lucky for me, the transistor paddles (or at least I think that's what they're called) weren't working, and it took another half hour to find some that did, so I could still be monitored in the tub. I finally got in, though, and the hot water did seem to help some. But alas, the "midwife's epidural" only works so long, and the beastly things got stronger again.

Now, mind you, I had been up since 6:30 that morning, had worked a full day, and hadn't slept at all. I was absolutely exhausted. So I asked for an epidural. The anesthesiologist came in and when I told him that epidurals have not worked on my right side, he guaranteed me that this one would. My brilliant nurse, Jess, managed to do my I.V. mid-flailing-contraction and helped me back to bed so I could hopefully get some relief.

Well, the anesthesiologist was not wrong: My right side had no problems getting relief. My nervous system, however, had decided that it was not to be trifled with, and left a "window" open on my left side: at and around the crook of my left hip and leg. Hubs had earlier tried to suggest to me that at least I got SOME pain relief. The anesthesiologist and I both informed him in no uncertain terms that a partial epidural is as good as none at all.  So while the poor anesthesia doctors fiddled with my epidural, I leaned forward on Hubs' chest and made a lot of noise. Nothing. Worked. Finally, the poor man agreed to take the initial catheter out of my spine and try a second time. 

By this point I was well into transitional labor: bellowing like the bastard love-child of a bull and a banshee, accidentally manhandling my poor nurse at one point because Hubs had stepped away and I couldn't reach him as the contraction came on. Thankfully he stepped in and rescued the horror-struck woman and let me wail once more into his muscular chest. I married a true gentleman, I did.

I would like to take a moment from reporting baby-related facts and point out that despite the very intense sensations involved in labor, somehow leaning on Hubs with my face pressed against his chest made the whole thing a lot more tolerable. In truth, the reason I wound up manhandling Jess, to whom I have apologized profusely, was because I freaked out and lost control at not having Hubs at hand, so I grabbed her shirt to try to pull her closer so I could lean on her until the contraction passed. My point is: everything is better with Hubs.

During all this hubbub, I started to feel like I had to pee. I asked Jess to catheterize me, and instantly regretted it. No matter what I did, the sensation did not go away. After trying to tolerate it for a while, I begged her to take it back out again. Once she did this, I was able to sit up again so that our poor anesthesiologist could do as he had suggested: take out the first epidural and try for a second one. He worked quickly and quietly despite my continued bull-banshee wails. As he began to tape the catheters in place, the urge to pee came on so strongly, I figured, "What the hell? I'll just piss the bed." At which point I began to wonder why my abdominal muscles were trying so hard to do so.

Just as the good doctor finished taping my back up, I had a second revelation: I wasn't peeing, my body was PUSHING and had NO interest in whether or not my brain concurred. Not only that, but there was the top of a HEAD making contact with the mattress! I think I declared something composed and rational like, "Oh shit, I'm pushing!" This, of course, got everyone scrambling. The doctors asked me to not do so while Hubs and Jess helped me lay down. I tried to inform them that my brain was not in control at that moment, but all I could scream was something akin to, "I can't help it! It's coming NOW!" 

Hubs tells me, in deliberately careful tones, that "there were... Sounds..." while I pushed. I'm pretty sure I roared like an enraged walrus. I know this because afterward I sounded like someone who smoked six packs of Cuban cigars a day for fifty years, and inhaled every drag. Anyway, one or two bellowing pushes got the head out. One more produced the boniest shoulders I ever want to deliver again, and one last grunt left me with the feeling of relief that only childbirth can give. And I didn't even tear.

Tempest was born at 3:52 am on June 26, 2013. He weighs 7.38 pounds and sports a 14-inch noggin. He was 3 weeks, 2 days early but is overall healthier than Princess Wiggle-Worm was, as a post-dates baby.

But wait! There's more! I sent Hubs home to get some sleep, and waited around to be carted off to the mothers and babies ward. I was told I would be allowed to do this once I emptied my bladder. Thinking that all was well, I made my way to the bathroom while the medical staff tended to Tempest. Once my business was finished I stood up and slipped into the weird fishnet style undies and diaper-sized pad they give out and felt incredibly light headed. Deciding to finish covering my nakedness at long last, I managed to put my gown on backwards and stumbled to a nearby wheelchair before stating dazedly that I felt like I was going to pass out.

Apparently I did, and spasmed a little too, because the next thing I remember is feeling one set of hands holding a cool cloth to the front of my neck, another pair holding one to my forehead, a third pair putting something into my I.V. and I.F.'s hand taking my pulse. Turns out my blood pressure dropped off suddenly. The running theory is that the ridiculous amount of clotting that one of the residents scraped out of me by hand a little later was the culprit. 

Anyway, I'm okay now; Tempest is eating like a pig, pooping like there's no tomorrow and sleeping like a log. His Papa is beside himself with glee over his adorable new son, and I can't wait to go home and snuggle my own marvelous munchkin tomorrow.

Let's Try That Again: Good News & Not-Bad News

Apologies, everybody. Yesterday’s post was done on my iPad with a fried brain. Not that today is much better, but I have a proper keyboard with which to plunk out my thoughts. I will do my best to expound further on yesterday morning’s adventures, and follow up with the evening’s shenanigans.

Sunday evening I had a little bit of what’s called “bloody show.” For those of you who are unfamiliar with this rather gruesome portion of pregnancy, it’s a little bit of blood that comes out a little before, sometimes with, and sometimes after the mucus plug falls out. Yes, you read that right. There’s a plug in the cervix that’s made out of mucus. Its job is to hold everything nice and watertight while the baby grows. During the third trimester, it falls out; sometimes in one nasty swoop; other times in barely noticeable bits and pieces. This can happen weeks or even a month before labor begins.

Yesterday morning the bloody show was still there, but with more liquid than I’m used to. Not urine, ladies and gents, but a clear liquid that for me, brings back a vivid sense-memory of birth and delivery. So of course my foggy brain went, “my water must have ruptured up high again, and Tempest must be sealing it off, just like Pooka did. I was also having irregular but really intense contractions. I had an appointment scheduled anyway, so I decided to wait until I saw Dr. Firstname to mention it. He did a pelvic exam, along with my scheduled Group B Strep test (checking my bits for bacteria that could be harmful to the baby during delivery) and concluded that it probably wasn’t amniotic fluid (my water) but that I should keep an eye on it. Doctor’s orders were that if the leak persisted, I should go back up tomorrow – meaning today – and if it got worse, I should head back up to the Big Hospital that evening to be tested again, and if the leak turned out to be amniotic fluid, they’d induce labor.

Well, boys and girls, I wound up with a couple of good gushes around 5:30-6:00 last night, while standing in the kitchen. Hubs was making dinner already, and since it was clearly NOT the tsunami of membranes actually rupturing, we decided to relax, let my comfy labor clothes finish their turn in the dryer and have dinner before we drove up.

Upon arrival, I was informed by the lovely Young Nurse that I can indeed wear an oversized shirt rather than the scratchy, uncomfortable gowns they give people to wear at the hospital. This, I think, is EXCELLENT news. Hubs and his “theoretical lawyer” (aka. his best friend, with whom he was texting while we waited), declared a binding verbal agreement that if I give birth in his tee shirt, I can keep it; he’ll never wear it again. I’m okay with this. His tee shirts are soft and comfortable. Anyway, I got hooked up to the baby and contraction monitor and waited for doctors to come poke and prod me.

Several residents in the Big Hospital’s Birthing Center gave me the same pelvic exam – insert speculum, swab with nitrizine strips to test for the presence of amniotic fluid, make patient cough really hard and see if liquid eeks out. The residents concluded that it was definitely not amniotic fluid coming out of me, but that sometimes women at this stage of pregnancy can often times wind up with very damp discharge, and that given that the level of amniotic fluid measured around Tempest at this morning’s ultrasound, along with his steady, healthy heart rate and regular movement (he kept kicking the monitor paddle while I was being watched in the Birthing Center), they didn’t see a need to induce labor.

Oh, right! The ultrasound this morning! Tempest has turned on his own and as of yesterday morning was definitively head-down. He’s measuring in the 80-90^th percentile for his gestational age at 7 pounds, 8 ounces. The ultrasound tech and I made a bet to see how much he had grown. He said 7 pounds even. I said 7 and a half. I won. So at a month prior to his due date, he’s already bigger than his older sister was at birth. The doctors have mentioned, several times, that they should probably measure my pelvis to make sure he can get through. I keep reminding them: Pooka was 8 pounds, 10 ounces, and the circumference of her head was 13.5 inches. I pushed her out with nothing more than an episiotomy. I can fit this little dude. I.F. is overall quite pleased with things thus far, and was about ready to jump up and down at the news that Tempest is head-down now. Neither of us are terribly excited at the prospect of c-section.

I’ll admit, I was a little excited about the idea of having Tempest last night, but in thinking about it: I’m really sort of set on trying to do this without being induced. Had it happened last night, I would have had to be induced. Nicht ser gut.

We got home around 1:00 this morning, and then I woke up about every hour with contractions and having to pee, so as the internet meme says, “I cannot brain today. I have the dumb.” On the upside, contractions are back to being quite mild and other than a little discomfort when trying to stand up from a sitting or prone position, I’m pretty comfortable.

I think that’s all about which I have to ramble for today, so unless something spectacular happens between now and my next appointment: Stay tuned for more “ADVENTURES IN SURROGACY!”

Good News & not Bad News

Back up to the Big Hospital for what is hopefully the last time this pregnancy. Much to both mine and I.F.s surprise, Tempest turned himself when I wasn't paying attention. So he's head down all on his own which means no c-section for me; at least not for breech presentation anyway.

The new development is bloody show with possible amniotic fluid leaking. Because of the blood, Dr. Firstname was unable to tell for sure. So if it continues but doesn't get worse, I go back to the hospital tomorrow to be checked again. If it gets worse, I go back tonight. Either way, it sounds like induction for me. I've been having contractions all day. Pretty intense ones, too. 

We'll see!

Versions and Asian Food

Beware, people! Updates will be occurring weekly, beginning in two weeks… *Ominous music*

Yet another successful appointment at The Big Hospital last night, courtesy of “Mama.” Hubs had to work and therefore needed the car, so Mama generously agreed to drive me. We got to meet a new doctor – well, new to me anyway. I’ll call him Dr. Mischief, since the first thing he did when he walked into the room was to introduce himself as the high-risk doctor who saw me a couple times with Wiggle Worm. HA! I laughed and told him, “I don’t think so, sir. Dr. High Risk is a woman, and you’re very clearly not.” But I digress. There’s some to report before Dr. Mischief showed up.

The receptionist in OB, as it turns out, is a fellow Whovian. So while Mama and I waited for the nurse to call me in, we geeked out at the front counter for a while (and did more geeking out before we left!) Mama and our receptionist are both bummed out that Matt Smith is done being The Doctor after X-Mas. I’m sort of excited to see who they bring in after him, to be honest.

Once the young, energetic nurse did call us in and get us settled (I gained a pound), she asked if I had brought my glucose booklet.

“My what?” I asked.

“Your glucose booklet. It’s a little green booklet the doctor gave you to record your blood sugars,” she replied, looking as confused as I was.

“No one has ever given me a glucose booklet,” I frowned.

“No?” She asked, glancing at the computer screen that displayed my chart. “Did you do the glucose tolerance test?”

“I did,” I replied, trying to sound chipper. “It came back normal.”

She confirmed that it had, and explained that sometimes when people write up the summary slips to brief the doctors before they come in to see patients, the slips get rushed and mistakes get made. Honestly, I didn’t mind much. They usually get these mistakes ironed out in discussion with patients anyway. The nurse took my blood pressure, discussed her gorgeous new engagement ring with us and scurried off to find Dr. Mischief.

After the initial teasing, he settled straight down to work. He reiterated what the nurse had told us about needing to be tested for Group B Strep at my next visit, which I expected. He double-checked my chart to make sure that I was not, in fact, a gestational diabetic. He measured my uterus and declared me right on for dates: 34 weeks. He also did something no one else has done before; he listened to my belly with his stethoscope rather than searching for Tempest’s heartbeat with the Doppler, which requires goo to be smeared around my stomach, THEN put a tiny dab of goo down so he was pretty much right on the mark. The Doppler’s battery was dying though, so we were only able to hear him in bursts. Dr. Mischief declared everything great and healthy. What was amusing about this experience though, was that we could hear Tempest’s heart rate rising as he “wound up” for a good, hard kick. I've never felt anything like it before. I can tell when he’s waking up and getting ready to move around. It’s not easily described; he sort of inflates a little and I can feel the tension in my belly, almost like vibration, and then suddenly my belly distends rapidly and regains its shape just as quickly. Very strange sensations indeed.

We also discussed options if, at my 36-week ultrasound, Tempest is still breech. I asked if they do External Cephalic Version. Of course he replied that they do, and recommended that if the baby is indeed still breech on the 24^th, the group would generally recommend that I go straight up to labor & delivery to have the procedure done. There is a slight risk that it could break my water and set me into labor, but at 36 weeks, 3 days he’s developed enough that it wouldn't hurt him to be born that day anyway. In later discussion with I.F., it sounds like he’d prefer to wait till the following week, just in case I did go into labor. I’m pretty confident that I wouldn't  but I’m not a medical expert, either. Either way, unless Tempest does a major flip between now and then, I’m going to have my labor & delivery bag packed and waiting in the car, just in case.

After the appointment, Mama and I went to an Asian restaurant two towns over from The Big Hospital, for dinner. She got a sushi platter which she said was fantastic. I got pad thai that was soupy with overcooked noodles. Blech. We agreed that I had been watching too much "Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares" on Netflix, because I poked at just about everything I thought might be wrong with the place. In honesty, it was nearly five minutes before anyone even acknowledged us, let alone showed us to one of the many empty tables in the place. The crab rangoons were tiny but crunchy and not the worst I've had. Again; really bad pad thai, and the waitress completely forgot to bring me the soda I had ordered. I asked about it halfway through the meal and she finally went and got it. Hubs says I should give every restaurant two tries before I decide to stop going there. He's pretty much always right, so I will; just not for a while. Ha!

Juicing...YEAH!

Over the last week or so, Tempest has made it very difficult to keep food down. Even eating tiny meals slowly has made little difference. Greasy food is a DEFINITE no-no, as is fake sugar and anything high in saturated fat; whether greasy or not. Big meals are out, and small meals MUST be eaten VERY slowly. Take a tiny bite, chew it to mush, swallow and wait 2-3 minutes before taking the next tiny bite. Drink water between bites. And even then, I wind up burping more than a beer-chugging frat boy. Ah, the glamour of pregnancy.

I jokingly suggested to Hubs, yesterday, that perhaps I should consider “juicing.” No, not steroids: Geez. I mean going on a liquid diet. Silken tofu and various fruits and vegetables pureed in a blender with some juice or other liquid. Out of curiosity, I tried a smoothie for breakfast this morning instead of something more solid. Aside from the inevitable belching, I haven’t been forced to bow at the feet of Ralph, The Porcelain God yet. The day is still young but if this keeps up, I’m pulling the blender back out of retirement and buying stock in tofu at the local Coop.

I think Tempest is still breech, but he did some seriously wild wiggling last night when I went to bed, so for all I know he may very well have flipped around. If not, he clearly has the ability to do so. But we’ll find out for sure on the 24^th when we have our 36-week ultrasound. I.F. seems amenable to the possibility of external cephalic version: Turning the baby around from the outside, manually. Basically the doctor (with or without the assistance of a nurse-midwife) would give me a shot of muscle relaxer aimed at the uterus specifically, and push and prod at Tempest through my belly to try to get him to turn around so he’s head-down. I’ll admit that this idea makes me feel a lot better than just leaving him as he is, and insisting on a C-section. *FINGERS CROSSED*