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.
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