Birth Story, Longer

Tuesday morning, I went in for an ultrasound so they could check the fluid and see how the baby was holding up in there. The results weren't promising--the technician could only find a few small pockets of amniotic fluid, which isn't great. The baby was otherwise doing okay, but my doctor told me that it should be my last day of work and that I should spend the rest of the week resting and drinking lots of fluid. Being in a holding pattern at work was a bit stressful, so it was fine by me to have a start date for my leave. Aubrey and I went out to lunch and shared the biggest plate of nachos I've ever seen in my life. So if I'm going to credit a food for starting off my labor, it would have to be the ginormous nacho appetizer at Racine's. Can't go wrong with jalapenos, cheese, and beans!

At first I wasn't sure I was feeling contractions because I'd been so uncomfortable the whole week that a few more aches didn't seem out of place. But then they became more distinctly cramp-like and I began suspecting this was the real thing. By the time I got home, they were strong enough for J and I to get excited. They were mild most of the night, but by 11:30 they had progressed into holy-shit-ouch territory. I took a couple hot showers, watched some Chelsea Lately while on the pilates ball, and breathed through them until about 2:00 am, when we headed to the hospital. I know all about the importance of laboring at home as long as possible, and the last thing I wanted was to get to the hospital, have them tell me I was one centimeter, and be sent home. So you should know that by the time we got to the hospital, I was in some crazy pain, the contractions were a couple minutes apart and lasting over a minute each.

The main thing I was concerned about was that the pain was mostly in my lower back. Imagine the worst back spasm ever, concentrated into a small area above your tailbone, that grows in pain and just KEEPS HAPPENING. Anyway: awful. The L&D ward was actually full when we got there and I was admitted into triage where a very nice nurse checked me out and told me I was exactly ONE centimeter dilated. Meaning I had progressed not at all from, like, two weeks ago. I would have been more concerned if I wasn't in mind-numbing pain. She told me to walk around the halls a bit to see if we could get this going. "Walk" is a very general term for what we did, which was shuffle a few feet and then double over in pain. I do pretty good with pain and did the lamaze classes and am all about yoga, but there were contractions where screaming was as close as I could possibly get to "breathing through it."

After the walk, I was still at a centimeter, but they told me they couldn't send me home in this much pain. Back labor is some serious shit, man. At that point I was desperate, and this is what they offered me: morphine. This is how they described what would happen: I would get a shot of morphine, I would pass out, wake up several hours later all well rested, and be much further along. At that point, anything that offered relief sounded good. Unfortunately, a shot of morphine got me exactly nowhere. An hour after the shot, I felt exactly the same and was delirious from lack of sleep and pain. Next option: epidural. Again, this was something I had hoped not to do, but I was past the point of images of my natural birth and signed on for the drugs before they could finish the offer.

I have to say, epidurals are maaaagic. Within minutes, my legs were tingly and I couldn't feel the contractions anymore. Bliss! On top of that, with the added numbness my doctor was able to go in and stretch me to 3 centimeters. There was some sort of scar tissue that had been impeding the dilation, so after that was taken care of, I did okay. I slept a little and felt like I could handle the situation again. It was like returning from a vacation my body took. The television in the room was turned to cartoons, which was fine, though I finally drew the line and made them find a remote when Dora came on. I was not going to give birth with Dora and that monkey staring at me. Luckily, J brought the Wes Anderson collection and we got through Bottle Rocket, Royal Tenenbaums, and half of Newsies (not Wes Anderson) when I got the discouraging news.

Though I had made it to 6.5 centimeters, I had stalled out. The baby was in a weird position, lodged against the pelvis bone and wasn't responding well to the contractions anymore. I had the option of taking some pitocin and seeing that would progress me enough to try to push, but the doctor worried that I'd do that and still be in the same position I was in with the baby and we'd have to do an emergency c-section. So, I could get the section now, or they'd let me try if I was really gung ho about it. Everyone was really nice about it and the doctor especially was incredibly sympathetic to the fact that this wasn't the labor I had envisioned. However, I am not crazy. I just wasn't willing to sacrifice everyone's health and sanity for the small chance I'd be able to deliver vaginally. Really, I was so excited to finally meet the little guy that had been kicking me in the ribs that I was ready to sign on for whatever option got him to me the safest. So c-section it was.

It happened very quickly from there and I was whisked away. After they up the epidural, I really didn't feel anything going on, though the sensation of a team of people cutting a baby out of your abdomen is VERY WEIRD. Actually, the weirdest part was the delivery, where they told me I'd feel "a lot of pressure," What I felt was my chest being compressed rather severely, like I was getting CPR. It was intense enough to make me go, "UHHHHHHHGGHHH" involuntarily. But then! Baby Henry! He was bigger than everyone thought, at 8.5 pounds and had a little dent in his head where he had been pressing against the bone, so the section was the right decision. J was taken away to watch over the weighing and cleaning and I was stitched up and sent to recovery. I was a little sad I didn't get to see him directly afterward, but they brought him to me pretty quickly to feed and hold. I don't think it matters how a baby gets there: when you're holding him or her for the first time, it's really overwhelmingly amazing.

So I'm home now and things are going well. I'm a bit sore from the surgery, but healing just fine. Feedings are going well, even though this whole "eat every two hours" thing can be very exhausting. I feel incredibly lucky to have my family and friends here, who have all been great. My mom's already filled our freezer with food and my dad came and did about million dollars worth of yard work. J goes back to work next week, so we'll see how it goes flying solo.

Lucky I got this cute one.