This part will take us from our arrival at the hospital to the "it's time to push..." In this installment, you learn that I dilated very rapidly and we had BOTH of my parents AND my mother-in-law in the room when I delivered. I know, right? Bet you're DYING to hear how that went down. Read on...
We arrived at the hospital and the very flustered
father-to-be was trying to convince me to let him drop me off and go park the
car. I told him that I was the one in
labor, I knew how I was doing, and I would be fine to walk in with him. I would
much rather have walked the extra steps than been up there without him
wondering where he was. I needed my hubby there with me. We gathered our things and headed in, Jeff
looked like a pack mule. I remember
feeling my belly as we walked across the street, it felt so different without
all the amniotic fluid in there and I wondered what it was like for the
Beavlet. I knew he could notice the
difference, I wondered what he thought of it!
We got inside and rode up in the elevator, they were
expecting us because I had dutifully called ahead as soon as I knew we were
going. I was surprised that the nurses
were not more trusting when I told them my water had broken. “Was it a trickle or was it a gush?” They
asked, “Well, we’ll check you before we formally admit you.” I felt like informing them that I wasn’t some
ill-informed teenager, my frickin’ water had frickin’ broken already so they
could skip the conservative protocols and just settle us in for the long haul
already! But, I dutifully humored
them. It wasn’t long before Sarah, our
nurse said, “Well, your water did break!”
Ever heard the phrase, “No @#$%, Sherlock?” That applies.
I changed into a gown and they hooked me up to the monitor
to hear our little boy’s heartbeat. We were SO relieved when we heard him in
there, no distress, just as strong and calm as he could be. Our little man, unphased by his impending
entry into the world and all the changes going on around him in the only world he'd ever known. She checked my
cervix and told me I was 3 cm dilated, 100% effaced. I was disappointed, I had expected to be
further along. I resigned myself to a
looooooong journey ahead.
Then, the poking and the prodding commenced. They tried to take blood, they gave me
antibiotics (Group B strep, you know), they tried to take blood again…it was
all very uncomfortable. Add to that the
fact that my contractions had changed.
Remember that pain I described from my birthday? Well, it was back. It appeared that I was going to be one of
those unfortunate women who had what is known as back labor. Just the mention
of the words “back labor” evoke groans and winces from those who have had it or
been close to someone who has. It isn’t fun, and I couldn’t BELIEVE it was
happening to me. But, it was happening.
To me. I was way less than thrilled.
I couldn’t get comfortable. My back hurt even BETWEEN
contractions, which now sometimes seemed to be right on top of one
another. Jeff turned the Timbers match
on, the previous spring they had gotten me through the feverish first night of
strep throat, they were going to get me through labor as well. But, it was not
to be. Things disintegrated really
fast. Not in terms of the baby or me
being in any danger, it was always clear that we were both fine. I just hurt a
lot and wasn’t having those breaks between contractions to rest and relax and
change position like they told us in our birthing classes. Plus, they hadn’t
been able to draw my blood so there were two more nurses trying two more times,
poking me in the arm and hand repeatedly, while I tried to breathe through
contractions.
Per my request, Jeff texted my mother to tell her I wanted
to see her when she got there. We had
originally thought we wanted nobody in the room but us, but when a girl hurts
THAT MUCH, she needs her Mommy!!!
So, in my parents came, both of them. I didn’t mind having
my dad there, he’d always been so matter-of-fact about my “female stuff”
throughout my life, treating things like periods and pap smears and cramps as
just another part of his daughter’s health, not any grosser, scarier, or of
less concern to him because he didn’t have the same equipment. So, I wasn’t
worried about having him the room with me. My mom prayed with me and over me, it
was exactly what I needed and right then, I decided that I needed her in the room
with me when I delivered him.
The contractions were SO BAD, I thought I might pass
out. I went into labor with very little
fear, my family history is of quick and easy labors so I hadn’t grown up
hearing horror stories, and I also knew it was a very natural process, which
women had been doing successfully since the beginning of the human race. The one thing that did scare me, however, was
the potential for me to pass out. My early experiences with an overactive
thyroid meant that I had gotten lightheaded quite easily during some very
formative years and at the outset of pregnancy, my blood pressure had tanked
and I got lightheaded very easily that time as well. The pain I could handle, but with each
successive contraction, the pain got more intense and realized that I wasn’t
going to be any good to my baby boy unconscious.
My mom said to me, “What would be so bad about getting an
epidural? You need to take care of
yourself.” I REALLY wanted to do it
without one, and there were two main reasons:
the first was that I had been enormously protective of my baby boy
throughout pregnancy, and I felt the same about delivery. The idea of being
numb, of not being able to FEEL what he was going through as he exited my body,
that scared me more than the pain. Also,
call me weird, but I was also more scared of a needle going into my spinal area
than if pushing a small human out of my body.
Birth? Natural. Needle in back? Not
natural. Scared me.
At this point, however, I had only been in labor for about
three hours, it had only been about an hour and a half since my first cervix
check had revealed that I had only dilated one centimeter since the previous
WEDNESDAY…the back labor was too much, I couldn’t do this for nine or ten more
hours. If I’d had breaks between contractions with no pain, fine, but that wasn’t
happening. I was no good to my son
unconscious, so I had the nurse call the anesthesiologist. He was
a few rooms away, and I remember feeling so much relief and praying with
my mom to thank the Lord for pain meds and that I was going to get some relief
from this pain.
Jeff was so supportive the whole time. He knew how much I wanted to give birth with
no pain medication, but he was also totally supportive of me deciding I couldn’t
take it and that the best thing for baby and me would be to get the
epidural. How he walked that line so
perfectly between pushing me toward what he knew I wanted but then gracefully
stepping aside from that and supporting me through what I now felt was
necessary…amazing.
In the meantime, they had been asking me all evening “Are
you nauseous, are you nauseous.” The answer was always, “no.” I felt like I was
having a hard time on the OTHER end of my digestive tract, but nauseous I was
not. While we waited for the
anesthesiologist, I was asked
again. No, I told them, I still was not
nauseous. And I wasn’t. Not at all, not
even a little bit. That did not stop me,
however, from INSTANTANEOUSLY throwing up.
I mean, zero to puke in less than 5 seconds. Never experienced anything like it. It was
like the exact opposite of my first trimester when I would go days on end,
nauseous as could be, and yet never throwing up.
There were two nurses in the room, our L&D nurse, Sarah,
and another, higher-ranking nurse who
had come in because nobody else was able to successfully draw my blood and she
was, as they say, the big guns. Well,
the minute I threw up, Sarah went about cleaning me up (I think I puked on
Jeff, my mom, and my dad’s shoes) and she and The Big Guns Nurse exchanged
knowing glances, and The Big Guns Nurse said, “Honey, I don’t think you’re
going to be needing that epidural.”
Huh? What the heck
did she mean? Just because I threw up?
The anesthesiologist was in the room, setting up his
equipment. “Hold on!” she told him, “Let
me check her cervix.” So, she checked me.
“Yup,” she said, “Just as I thought. You’re completely
dilated, no epidural, it’s time to push.
Call the doctor in!”
I was
flabbergasted. Fully dilated is ten
centimeters. I had been only three
centimeters dilated less than two hours earlier. My mom, she of the three hour
labor, shook her head knowingly. “Yep,
that’s what happens in our family.”
Sarah had told me that at 100% effaced, it was likely that I would, “Go
very quickly,” but I don’t think she meant THIS!
As the anesthesiologist left the room, there was a flurry of
“Wait? 7 cm in less than 2 hours?” “You’re kidding!” “No wonder she was about to pass out!” Those, of course, were mostly coming from my
parents and Jeff, while I’m sure progressing that quickly is not common, I
imagine the team of doctors and nurses had seen it before. If I’d known I was progressing that quickly,
I could have dealt with the pain. It
wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle for the length of time I’d had it, it was
just something I knew I couldn’t have handled for hours and hours and hours on
end.
They told us in our birthing classes, “A quick labor is not
necessarily good. It means a lot of pain in a really short amount of time. Personally,” she said, “I’d rather have a
longer labor.” I can’t say I agree with
her on the second part, but the first part sure made me feel better about my
wimpiness!!! J
Preparations began for the actual birth of our little boy,
and I felt once again that same rush of excitement, joy, and fear. It was only a matter of MINUTES now, barely a
heartbeat in comparison to the past 39 weeks and 1 day. However, it was going to hurt. I knew that for sure now, because I was going
to be completely unmedicated.
At that point, I made a decision that shocked the heck out
of me. I decided to let BOTH of my parents stay in the room, and have Jeff go
get his mother from the waiting room. I know, right? First of all, I was in so much pain that modesty
completely deserted me. Also, they’d all been there before. But,more
importantly, I knew even in my pain-muddled and overwhelmed state, that their
joy in being there for the birth of their first grandchild would be far greater
than my desire for modesty. I knew they
would all be “above the sheet,” so to speak, and I trusted all of them
implicitly. I told my dad later, “When you’re matter-of-fact and not scared or
intimidated or grossed out by all of your daughter’s female stuff growing up,
you get to see your grandchild born.” J
So, Jeff went to go get his mom, the nurses bustled around
busily as we waited for the doctor to arrive, and thus ends part 2 of our
journey. To follow shortly, the third
and final installment in which we meet Mister Cameron Lauren Rask and his perfect
self.
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