Birth Story Redux

I went to see the doc and she poked around in the nether-regions for a bit.  When she looked at me, there was a distinct crease in her brow.  "You're three centimeters." she said with concern.

Just two days before I had had a version, which was an attempt to turn the baby from transverse to engaged (head down in the cervix.)  My baby was not so cooperative, which may not bode so well for me when he's born if this is his attitude about life.

Now my baby was completely breech, which meant his feet were doing a Riverdance on my cervix and he was standing up inside me, using my insides as punching bags.  I could feel him moving all over the place all the time, never breaking for a moment.

And now my doctor was looking at me with concern, saying I was three centimeters dilated.  This was a problem, she said, because if I continued to have contractions, I could dilate further.  And if my water broke, the cord could slip out before the baby which would be a major concern.

So now I was worried.  After the version failed, the doctors hastily scheduled a cesarian for April 1st.  Yes, our baby was a planned April Fool's Day kid, forever to be joked, teased, tortured on his birthday.  And we CHOSE that date.  Sadistic parents.

But now my doctor was saying she wanted that baby out...now.  She wanted to schedule it for the following day, the 24th of March.  I asked for a day to schedule a sitter for our toddler, and she hesitantly agreed to make it the 25th.  Stress attacked my nervous system and I started tearing up from the impending freak out.

When I explained everything to my husband, he went into immediate planning mode, called several people and got things packed for the hospital.  We were ready to go within an hour.  Dealing with the idea of being cut open and having my organs shuffled around was weighing heavy on my mind, and the guilt of leaving my toddler overnight for the first time in his life was literally knifing me in the heart.  I felt like things were out of control and quickly spiraling towards crazy-town.

I slept fitfully that night, and the next morning I woke up with what felt like a stomach ache.  Perhaps I had stored all that stress inside and it was causing gastrointestinal distress, I thought.  But as the morning wore on, I felt twinges and pangs of pain that were unfamiliar.  During my pregnancy with my toddler, I didn't have a single Braxon-Hicks contraction, barely a twitch.  When the labor started, it hit like a wall of bricks.

This pregnancy I had felt Braxton-Hicks throughout the third trimester, although I hardly noticed it at first.  Now, I noticed it.  Boy howdy, did I notice it.  The contractions were steady, uncomfortable and predictable.  I remembered what my doctor had told me the day before...if the contractions were ten minutes apart or less, call Labor and Delivery and go in.

She had tried to get my c-section planned for two days after my last appointment, but the head of the department had shut her down, saying they had a policy about c-sections being performed only at 39 weeks or over.  I was just hitting 38 weeks, and although my doctor told me not to worry, the tone in her voice was not convincing.

Now I was contracting regularly...five minutes apart, to be exact.  My husband called Labor and Delivery and told them the situation.  My toddler was playing with his friend, who was visiting for the day.  No one could watch them right away, so I drove myself to the E.R. and prayed for clear roads.

The drive to the hospital was nothing short of white-knuckled and intense.  The pain of the contractions kept me alert to how easy it would be to drive into a light pole during a painful cramp.  The weather had turned nasty and the wind was throwing buckets of rain onto the car, making for a very dramatic scene.

I arrived at the parking lot and wobbled the two blocks to the E.R. waiting room.  Drenched and shivering from the cold, I told them I was in labor.  To their credit, they didn't wait for the baby to drop on the floor and whisked me away in a wheelchair to Labor and Delivery, where I was given only a minute to grasp the situation.

The doctor checked my cervix...four centimeters.  The contractions had become increasingly more and more intense as I lay on the bed.  Being the wimpy gal I am, I quickly asked for pain medication.

Doctors flew in and out of the room, nurses checked the baby's pulse, and everyone asked me the same question, "Is your husband coming?"

"Yes, he is.  And if he isn't here soon I will kill him."  I answered with a not-so-sincere laugh.

The reason everyone kept asking if my husband was coming was because they wanted to cut me...soon. And it wasn't a matter of if he showed up or not.  They were going to get the baby out within 30 minutes.

Husband showed up in the nick of time.  I was rushed into the O/R and given a series of shots in my back, a spinal tap, which numbed me from the chest down.  It was so odd, the sensation of no sensation.  At one point, I panicked because when I tried to cough, I couldn't.  The helplessness was overwhelming.

Once I was numbed up, my husband was allowed in.  He held my hand, told me it was ok, and not to be scared.  My fears were multiplying with the controlled chaos of the room.  Technicians and doctors were all around, shoving things in my IV, my nose, my mouth.  It was too much all at once, and at breakneck speed.

They finally cut, and within five minutes, baby boy was out and screaming his disapproval of the whole scene.  Two weeks early and totally unexpected, at 8 lbs, 13 oz, he had arrived.  Healthy, high apgar, and with a perfectly round head (thanks, c-section!)

Birth Story...Part Three

The residents kept saying PUSSSSHHH...

I kept PUSHHIINGGG...nothing.

The residents insisted that I PUSSSHHHHH...

So I would PUSHHHH, and nothing.

Waiting for the contractions to come was the worst part, by far. The pain of the contractions was so intense and immediate, I could barely consider the thought of pushing once they started that uphill climb to the peak.

Yet the nurses and residents kept insisting I push push push whenever I was at the height of the pain. It was quickly becoming obvious that I simply could NOT PUSH ANY MORE.

I felt as if I had been pushing for an hour, and even said so. "It's been an hour!!"

The consensus in the room was, no, it hasn't. You have been pushing for 15 minutes, maybe 20. You've been arguing for 30.

"I need help!!" I cried, oblivious to everyone around me, talking to no one in particular. "The epidural is NOT WORKING!!"

"The epidural isn't going to help during this part of labor." The nurse said, matter-of-factly. "You're going to have to push through the pain."

Ok, push through the pain. It'll be over soon. Everyone keeps saying so. "It'll be over in another push or two! You're an amazing pusher!"

So I kept pushing. Nothing. I finally got the nerve up and looked in the mirror they placed between my legs. I saw a little patch of unfamiliar hair coming out of a small opening. Every time I pushed, it would come out a little more, making the opening a little bigger...and then the contraction would end and it would slip back inside. Pushing was not working as well as everyone was leading me to believe.

I was getting pissed. The epidural was completely done. I was completely done. My pushing was ineffective, at best. The residents were getting frustrated. I was becoming desperate for some relief from the sharp, stabbing pain.

"PLEASE. I CAN NOT PUSH. MY BODY IS SHUTTING DOWN!!" I yelled. I looked at my husband, who was beaming and excited beyond belief. His eyes were shining with impending tears of joy. I felt as if I had let him down in some way by not popping this baby out sooner.

The resident looked up from between my legs and said in an annoyed voice, "Well, then you'll have to have a C-Section. Do you want that? A C-Section?" Her tone denoted a smart-assery that made things that much worse.

"YES. GIVE ME A C-SECTION." I hollered, dead serious. I wanted this DONE. I was over pushing. I was convinced everyone was lying to me. It was NOT just one more push, ever. In fact, if I heard "JUST ONE MORE PUSH!!" cheered to me one more time, I was going to rip out the IV, hop off the table and walk to the operating table on my own.

The resident looked shocked that her ploy had backfired. Little did she know that I was impervious to reverse psychology. I really did want a C-Section, if, in fact, that was what she was offering me.

"Well, it will be a different kind of pain!" She back-peddled as best she could, "You'll be recovering for months after a C-Section! You really don't want that, do you?"

"YES I DO." I repeated myself emphatically. And at that moment, I really did. Not my proudest moment, but YES I REALLY DID.

The nurses and residents conferred. The new anesthesiologist came in and gave me another shot into my catheter, hopefully to ease up on the pain so I could try pushing again, which I did...to no avail. Although the pain had lessened slightly, it came back with a vengeance twenty or so minutes later.

A second, blond resident came in and calmly spoke about another option. "We can do one thing before we try a C-Section. We can suction the baby out. Do you want to try that?"

I looked at my husband and weakly asked him what he thought. He said, "Whatever you want to do is fine with me." Although I knew this wasn't true...he would never have wanted me to go through with a C-Section.

The suction was attached, and the resident said, "You will have to push 200 times harder than you did before. Can you do it?"

I did. Two pushes later, he was out. He was quiet. They whisked him away and suctioned him from head to toe, sticking tubes down his throat, getting all the merconium out. Husband was thrilled and crying, checking on him, and then coming over to report to me what he was seeing.

Sadly, I don't remember most of what happened next. What I do remember is the incredible pain of having my uterus hand-scraped by the residents who delivered the baby. Apparently, they had pulled on the umbilical cord and it had promptly fallen off, causing them to act quickly to remove the placenta. If any part of the placenta was left inside, I was in danger of hemorrhaging.

If labor was painful, this was excruciating Hell on Earth. And it seemed to go on forever. Husband heard my screaming and came to my side, held my hand, and cried. He said later that he was frightened. He had never seen me in that much pain before.

The baby was almost done. Husband clipped the cord. They wrapped baby up in a blanket, put a hospital hat on him, and handed him to his dad.

All I remember then is being in the room with a swaddled baby. The rest, sadly, is a blur. I don't even remember holding him for the first time.

Birth Story...Part Two

Once we arrived at Labor and Delivery at the hospital, my first words to the first person who would listen were, "I want an epidural."

The response was surprising, but I suppose looking back on it now it shouldn't have been. The nurse said, "Oh we like you! People usually refuse the epidural until later, when they're freaking out."

I, on the other hand, was already freaking out. We passed by freaking out an hour ago, when they tried to re-route us to Walnut Creek during rush hour traffic. To be perfectly clear, I said it again, "I want an epidural."

The saline bags were hooked up to my IV and I was prepped to meet the person of my dreams...the epidural man. Our nurse, who happened to be a male, explained the procedure before the epidural man arrived. He said I would first get a local anesthesia to numb the area. It would feel like a wasp sting. Then, he would clean the area carefully and insert the needle into my back, and then the catheter. The medication would take approximately 20 minutes to work. Everything happened exactly that way. I bent my shoulders forward and down, like I was shrugging. I felt a wasp sting me in the lower back, and then I started tingling.

I love the epidural man.

It was an excellent epidural. I felt my legs, and could actually move them a bit, but the contraction pain that had me yelling out expletives earlier were literally gone. I couldn't feel anything beyond a little pressure. The only way I could tell I was contracting was by looking at the electric monitor. The line would start to go up, up, up...then it would peak and fall like clockwork every two minutes. Every now and then I would cheekily say, "Oh that was a BIG one!"

And they were big. All night long. Hub and I tried to sleep through the night, but it wasn't easy knowing you were about to pass a bowling ball through your pelvic cavity. I was anxious, nervous...it was peaking every uncertainty in my head.

Nothing calmed me down. I wanted food and water, but was only allowed sips from a cup and ice. A while back the nurse had inserted a catheter to collect urine, which had turned up dark and nearly amber in color. Knowing I was dehydrated, I desperately snuck sips of my hub's drink. Stolen juice never tasted so good.

The nurse arrived for the ump-teenth time to check on my cervix and my progress. He called the doc and asked her to take a look at the sheets between my legs. "Well, that's new." He said. The doc took a look, nodded, and left the room after some quiet conferencing and cryptic mumblings. After a while, the nurse spoke to me calmly about what was going to happen. It was the kind of calm voice that made me NOT calm. What was the matter?

He said, "Your water broke, but it's not clear. The baby has basically pooped, so here's what's going to happen. When you give birth, he will not be handed directly to you. He'll be whisked away to the pediatrician on duty, who will then suction out his lungs and everything else until the merconium is gone. The reason he does this is because if he doesn't and the baby takes a breath, he would be in danger of contracting pneumonia."

Ok. So, panic now? "There's no need to worry. It happens a lot." Ok, no panic. Just more anxiety. Pile it on the mound.

Having arrived at 6 p.m. at 3 cm dilated, I was now 5 cm dilated at 7 p.m. I closed my eyes for 30 minute winks of sleep at a time.

At 11 p.m., I woke up to two nurses and a doctor poking around my bed. They seemed rushed, quick to move, checking every monitor, every IV, everything. I was half awake and confused. What was happening now?!

The nurse said, "His heart rate has dropped." What?! What?!

The doctor said, "We're just checking on his heart rate. It dropped below normal levels and we would like to find out why. It's back to normal now, but we need to investigate."

The little man's heart rate had dropped from a steady 120-130 to 75. That was really low, according to me. But I stayed calm for the sake of hub, who had already endured my freak outs for the past 12 hours. And so it happened that baby boy was fine. It was just some schmutz with the electrical equipment.

August 27th, 2009 arrived. The big day.

At 7 a.m., I was 7 cm dilated and suddenly I was feeling cramping. What was that? Pain? Not possible. The epidural man and I had an arrangement. No pain at all below the waist. We had discussed it. It was a done deal.

However, I was in sudden, serious pain. It was getting worse by the minute, and I was starting to yell for the nurse. A beeping began to emit from the epidural box and the nurse came in to investigate.

"Oh, your epidural bag is empty. I'll call the doctor."

What? What? Empty what? I was now gripping the sides of my bed, hoping to alleviate some of the incredible pressure and cramping. The epidural man was no where to be seen. I felt as if I was being ripped in half by the contractions that I had once scoffed.

Epidural man did not show for nearly 45 minutes, and when he did, it wasn't immediate relief. The new bag was attached, and he even administered medication directly into my catheter tube. Nothing changed. I was still writhing.

30 minutes after the bag had been changed, still nothing. The nurse called in the new epidural man, since the old one had run away, probably in shame. (Many shift changes occur during a delivery, apparently.)

The new epidural man administered even more medication and a little fentanyl, which did not do much except make me woosy. Slowly, the medication started to take effect, but it was never really the same as the first time. I was disappointed, but took what I could get.

At 11 a.m. the doctor and the new nurse came in to ask, "You're at 10 cm dilated. Do you want to try pushing?"

Do I want to try pushing? No. Do I want this baby out? HELL YES. Let's try pushing.

Pushing was pure pain. I actually couldn't feel a contraction until I began pushing, and then suddenly, it was there...pounding, stabbing, gripping pain. I screamed a little, and then a lot, and then constantly.

Birth Story...Part One

August 26, 2009

Doctor's appointment. 11 a.m.

The doc checked me out and nothing had moved significantly. My cervix was at 1.5 dilated and I was 50% effaced. My mucus plug had started coming out in the form of a lovely brownish sticky goo over the last few days and we were feeling hopeful. But 1.5 is not the number we were hoping for. With all the Braxton Hicks I was feeling, I thought it would be closer to the starting gate. Just goes to show that nothing is what it seems in pregnancy. You could be 9 cm dilated and not even know it, from what those TLC shows say.

The doc decided to "get things moving" by sticking her finger into my cervix and running it around in there, separating the membranes, apparently. It was unpleasant, but I was desperate. If I'd known you could stick fingers in there in the first place, I probably would have done it myself long before the appointment ever took place.

We left, me feeling slightly violated and annoyed, Hub feeling excited and hopeful, as usual. He was in this state of euphoria constantly, but especially in the last month when everything seemed to be drawing to a close. He couldn't be seen without a slap-happy grin spread across his face at all times. I, on the other hand, was suffering from a variety of nasty symptoms ranging from carpal tunnel to mood swings akin to the worst PMS on the planet. I was waddling from corner to corner of the house, trying to keep busy, trying not to kill people in my way. The pregnancy had finally caught up with me. I had gone from 8 1/2 months of pre-natal bliss to absolute and concentrated hatred for the world. Being one day past my due date was like taunting an alligator with fresh kill. I was seriously in need of pain medication and muscle relaxants, and a lot of them, preferably together with a shot of vodka.

That afternoon, around 2:30, our friend came by. She is an acupuncturist and just happened to be in our neighborhood. Sensing impending doom upon talking to me on the phone, she offered a home visit at half price. "Let's do an induction and see if we can jump-start this labor for you." she said, as if it was a no-brainer. I jumped at the chance. Actually, at this point, I probably would have done anything short of murdering someone to get the labor started.

My friend came over with the needles and stuck me with just nine. Nine needles and a little walking and she was done. She told me to relax, not worry, things would happen very soon. I just grumbled something about being 10 months 6 days pregnant, gave her a big hug and started praying to whomever is up there to please deliver me a baby tonight.

30 minutes later, strong contractions began. I couldn't believe it. Acupuncture induction worked?! Well, that and my obgyn sticking her fingers to loosen my membranes...together, it worked!? I was in amazement...and in serious pain.

I started huffing and puffing just like I saw in every movie of the week, until I realized it wasn't helping at all with the pain. The contractions came and went, one every four to five minutes, each one lasting about 60 seconds. THIS WAS IT. I WAS IN LABOR. Whoo whoo whoo whoo...I took shallow breaths just to keep from passing out, since my first instinct was to hold my breath until the contraction passed.

The pain wasn't like a wave. It was like a stabbing. I felt like someone had grabbed a hold of my uterus and said, "Hey, lookie at this squeeze toy." and then squished my internal organs until they almost popped. It was intense, sharp, stabbing pain. A wave would have been a welcome sensation, but it definitely was not a gentle lapping motion of water kissing the shores. It was an episode of Law and Order where someone gets murdered in a bloody mess. That someone being ME.

Hub was excited and called the hospital. Their response to our excitement was this, "Sorry. We are full. You'll have to go to Walnut Creek."

My husband's jaw dropped. Then, it clenched. Then he spoke clearly into the phone, calmly, with a hint of anger. "HO NO. We are NOT going to Walnut Creek." He spoke very clearly into the phone.

The nurse on the other end of the line responded by repeating herself, "Sorry, but we are full. We have to reroute you to Walnut Creek."

Hub's face was deathly serious. He said in a less calm voice, "Listen, I know for a FACT you have room. You won't turn us away if we show up there. I am NOT going to drive my wife, who is in LABOR, over the bridge to Walnut Creek in RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC. It's 5 o'clock. There is no way I am doing that. So make room, because WE ARE COMING RIGHT NOW."

Click.

At this point, I was in tears and rambling on between contractions, which were literally taking my breath away. "IDON'TWANNAGOTOWALNUTCREEK!" I cried, "It will take us 2 hours to get there in rush hour traffic! PLEASE CALL THEM BACK!"

The second phone call was far more civil. An hour had passed since he had first called the hospital, and the contractions were stronger, more vicious. I was sweating, bent over in complete panic. Hub got on the phone with a different woman, and this time he said, "We will NOT be going to Walnut Creek. If you don't have room for us there, we'll find room at Cal Pacific Med Center and we will be sending YOU the humongous bill."

Apparently, that worked wonders. We were welcome with open arms. Money talks.

Once inside the car, I was looking for anything to get me through the next cramp from Hell. I grabbed the handle of the door and nearly ripped it off the hinges with my adrenaline powered She-Hulk strength. By the time we made it to the passenger zone of the hospital, I couldn't move from my seat. Every three or four minutes another one would hit me and then I would become incapacitated. Time would stop, I would freeze, hoping against hope that in suspended animation, the contractions would go away.

Luckily, a female orderly was dropping off a patient and wheeling an empty chair inside. In a semi-panicked state I shoved Hub toward her and hissed, "GET HER."

As she helped us into the chair, she offered some support and sympathy, which made me even more nervous, anxious, and annoyed. Why is everyone so freaking happy!? I AM IN PAIN HERE.