Now that the chaos has died down
somewhat and I can sit down by myself and type for a while, I can
fill you in on my last delivery before the baby-centered portion of
my world becomes much, much more personal.
Last Thursday I sat at my desk at work,
casually timing my contractions. They were coming at four to six
minute intervals and while they were not “STFU contractions,”
they were enough so that I was definitely not smiling. As I posted
previously, I called the Big Hospital and was advised that it might
not be a bad idea to come up and get checked out. I told them I would
come in if they continued after the hour-ish drive home. They did,
but I decided to try stopping at home and laying on my left side
after a long drink of water. One of the tests to see if labor is real
or not is to attempt this. If the contractions go away, then it's not
real labor. If they don't, then it's probably time to check in. Well,
they went away, but the doctors wanted me to stay close to the
hospital on Friday just to make sure things didn't pick back up
again.
Monday as I mentioned, we had our OB
appointment and Dr. Colorful tentatively scheduled us for induction
on Tuesday. I decided to go to work, since I had attended a
work-related conference one town north of home on Monday anyway, and
nothing had been set off. Besides, I was told that if I was to go in
early on Tuesday morning, I'd get a call around 6:30 am. I didn't, so
I went to work and followed the secondary protocol: Check in by 9:00
am if no one had called me. They hadn't, so I called and was told
that they might be able to squeeze me in later, so I should call back
around 1:00 pm. That call met with success. I was to head up to the
hospital right then to be induced.
I texted Mum to let her know that she
and Dad should meet me at the Big Hospital at 2:30 to begin the
process. We even made it into a room and I got changed and hopped
onto the bed before the nurse came in apologizing profusely, but
asking us if we'd be willing to come back Wednesday, because three
laboring mothers were inbound and space was still kind of tight.
Disappointed, Mum and Dad agreed, so I got dressed and we headed out
for the night.
At 6:45 Wednesday morning, Mum texted
me to ask if I'd heard from the hospital yet. I blearily replied that
the Labor & Delivery ward was only fifteen minutes late calling,
but to double check I called my voicemail at work and checked to make
sure they hadn't tried calling me at the wrong number. While on that
call, I got a voicemail from Labor & Delivery on my cell, telling
me to call them back. Of course what they meant was, “go ahead and
have breakfast, get a shower and come in.” Mum and Dad were
informed and I promised to text them when I headed out.
By 8:30 am, I was gown-clad and hooked
up to fetal and contraction monitors, and the nurses were introducing
themselves and talking us through the early stages of the induction
process. Three attempts at my veins finally got an IV into my hand
and saline and penicillin were on their way into my bloodstream. Can
I just tell you: Penicillin BURNS. Thankfully, increasing the saline
drip dilutes it so it doesn't bother, but holy mackerel! OW! Pitocin
followed shortly thereafter and early labor was on its way.
At Hubs' suggestion, I asked to see an
anesthesiologist early on to get an epidural started before labor got
really difficult. Hubs seemed to think that doing it while I'm not
bellowing and clawing at people would make it more effective. It took
several hours of having our nurses pester the docs, but after two
c-sections, one of them was finally free to come in and stick a
needle and catheter into my back. Ladies and gentlemen: Hubs was
right. Turns out that when you get the epidural after active labor
begins, the medicine can't keep up with the contractions, so you wind
up not getting relief.
Once the penicillin drip was complete,
one of the doctors who'd delivered Tempest came in and broke my
water. Not much happened, to be honest. We all kind of expected the
same tsunami as before, but no one worried much that it didn't all
come at once. I wasn't feeling any pain, and so I was perfectly happy
to let labor progress as it would.
Except that hours and hours later, I
wasn't progressing at six centimeters dilation. Nugget was tolerating
labor just fine – heart rate and movement were healthy, but I was
starting to get frustrated; and Mum was all but pacing from
excitement and anticipation. Another cervical check showed that there
was a “forebag” of amniotic fluid preventing Nugget from coming
down any further. That bag was ruptured, and again some fluid came
with, along with a healthy dose of bloody show, and the doctor left,
content that this would encourage more progress.
It didn't. Two hours later, I was still
at six centimeters and guess what? Yet another forebag presented
itself. This one ruptured but-good, and the aforementioned tsunami
emerged and then some. By this point the epidural wasn't giving me
100% relief, but it was still taking a lot of the edge off. At this
point, I had figured out that I had yet to really relax my pelvic
muscles – a major no-no in birthing. In previous experiences, I'd
felt the contractions, so it reminded me to breathe, keep my jaw
loose and my “bottom” relaxed. Now I was able to hum through the
contractions while Mum, Dad and our third nurse (we had gone through
two other shifts by that point) fiddled around with a birthing ball,
then a birthing ball trying to help me find a position I liked. My
idea was that if I sat up as I had with Tempest, we could try to use
gravity and the pressure of my upper body to encourage Nugget to come
down more and faster; thus dilating me better. I soaked through a
practical regiment of “chux pads” (the ones that are quilted on
one side, and plastic on the other, to protect sheets from bodily
fluids) as amniotic fluid continued to surge out with every
contraction. This did work. At my next cervical check, I was at nine
centimeters.
Except I stayed there through three
more checks. We turned me over – yes, I had enough epidural going
to make fine motor control in my left leg all but impossible - and I
knelt on the bed, leaning against the head, which had been raised up
fully. The intent here was to keep my pelvic muscles relaxed and
encourage Nugget's head to push that last little lip of cervix out of
the way. It didn't work; it just made my legs tired and wobbly. It
was then decided that I might have better luck laying on my right
side. At least that way we could maybe encourage the epidural to do
more work on the side that was no longer getting the same relief as
my left.
This didn't have quite the effect we
intended it to, at first. Over the course of the second and third
trimesters this pregnancy, if I ate within three hours of bedtime,
Nugget would protest and make me throw up whatever I had eaten and
then some. These last few weeks, I wasn't able to eat much past 2:00
pm most days. I had eaten a few bites of fruit and granola parfait
from a local breakfast shop, and had a few sips of orange juice as my
breakfast. Lunch and dinner were long over, but I'd swallowed a
decent amount of water, apple juice and gingerale; and had been
allowed a grape popsicle, which I couldn't finish. I'd thrown up a
little bit, earlier, but apparently not enough. I let it all go.
The next thing I knew, I felt Nugget's
head slip past my cervix and begin the journey down my birth canal. I
had been warned earlier that Dr. Colorful, who was now on duty, was
slow to arrive for deliveries, so I tried to give as much notice as I
could. I told my nurse, “The baby just made its way down past my
cervix. Pushing is imminent. You'll want to get the doctor now.”
The residents, pediatrician and other
nurses made their way into the room and suited up, as they had
already prepared a cart for delivery.
By the time the medical staff's gloves
were on, I was actually trying to hold Nugget back. No pushing was
necessary. In fact, one of the residents had to put her hand between
my lefts to STOP Nugget from just sliding out. I kid you not folks, I
did not push AT ALL to get Nugget to this point.
I was told several times that we all
really needed to wait for Dr. Colorful to arrive, but frankly it's
not comfortable having a baby's head crowning and just sitting there.
I asked several times if we could please just deliver the baby. Both
residents were properly trained, and I'm fairly certain that both had
attended Tempest's birth as well. Finally, they assented, as Colorful
was nowhere to be found.
Two grunts later – I say grunts
because they really weren't pushes, Nugget's head and shoulders were
out and the doctors were declaring the baby a boy. I wish I had a
camera to show you Mum and Dad's faces – Mum's jaw was on the
floor, but the rest of her face was awash with emotion. Dad's face,
however, was just a mask of flabbergast. It was downright hilarious.
On top of that, Colorful showed up after Mum and Dad cut the baby's
umbilical cord and the nurses helped wrap Mum and baby up,
skin-to-skin. I laughed at him and declared, “You're late! You
totally missed the whole thing!”
Folks, we had all expected a bellowing,
screaming, clawing, chaotic mess, but through seventeen hours of
labor, all anyone got was a little humming, a lot of breathing and a
few grunts. We had four fantastic nurses, five great doctors and a
top-notch anesthesiologist. I couldn't have asked for better.
I'm sure by now plenty of you
magnificent readers are looking for all the stats on baby Nugget. I
shall now therefore oblige. Nugget's real name (with Mum's
permission) is Hudson. He was born at 2:28 am on Thursday, October 2,
2014. He weighed in at 9 pounds, 6 ounces and measured 21 inches
long. As soon as the doctors set him on the bed between my legs for
cord-cutting, he let out a good, strong bellow and apparently I
missed that all of the attending nurses were in tears, right along
with Mum. I'm told this is very rare. And yes, I am pumping breast
milk for Hudson for at least three months.
As for me, I'm sore. Incredibly sore. I
guess it comes with the territory if an almost nine and a half pound
baby is going to just slide out of me. I also probably shouldn't have
agreed to a flu shot, twelve hours postpartum, but I figured that the
maternity nurses wouldn't have offered it to me if it were going to
cause problems, right? Oh well. That's what ibuprofen, ice packs and
hot packs are for.
Hubs and I are definitely, DEFINITELY
going to try to get pregnant for ourselves next, and then if the
timing works out for Mum and Dad, we'll work with them again to give
them a second child. I learned from several of the nurses, during
labor, that my hope of having a home birth for my next baby is not a
great idea. Because I have a tendency to hemorrhage and clot quickly
after delivery, and because I'm technically considered to be of
advanced maternal age, home birth is not optimal. Now, we did discuss
the possibility that these nurses might simply have a bias against
home birth, but they were able to say and prove, through knowing and
having worked as backups for a few local home birth midwives, that
this wasn't the case. I may still have an honest chat with one or two
of these midwives to see what they have to say about my bleeding
issues, but I have a suspicion that they'll also declare me to be a
poor candidate for home birth. I think I can live with this. The
nurse-midwives at The Big Hospital have a good reputation, and to be
honest I have enjoyed my experiences with the doctors at that
hospital anyway.
I think that's all for now, folks. Stay
tuned – I'll keep you posted on my own progress with my next baby,
I promise!
