My Birth Story: Part 2
Missed Part 1 of my birth story? Click here to get caught up!
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The pain was coming fast and furious, as is the case when you’re induced (Pitocin = evil). I was still handling it without any drugs, but I was beginning to realize that I didn’t want to go without pain relief for much longer.
What surprised me was that the pain itself was not a totally unfamiliar pain. Before going into labour, I had figured I had no idea what it would feel like. Contractions actually felt like a combination of horrible period cramps and horrible have-to-go-to-the-bathroom cramps — both things I had experienced before — except on a MUCH bigger scale.
Sunday, 1:20 a.m. The contractions were unbearable and were coming so close together. I kept forgetting to breathe through them, and would just tense up and cry out. You wouldn’t think you would forget something as basic as breathing, but I did somehow. The nurse would say, “Breeeeeeathe,” and I would be like, right, breathe, of course.
Sunday, 1:25 a.m. I started begging the nurse to check my progress again. I was desperate for the epidural, and I knew they wouldn’t give it to me until I was 4 cm dilated. I was hoping and praying I was actually like 9 or 10 cm along. I mean, how could I not be? The pain was awful!!!
Saturday, 1:30 a.m. The nurse checked me again, and reported that I was 2-3 cm dilated. Again, I cried, and then told her I was considering myself to be “3 cm.” It was definitely a case of rounding up.
Sunday, 1:30 a.m. to 2 a.m. I spent a half hour sobbing and begging the nurse to ask if I could have the epidural. Technically, I was a bit early to get it, but I was hoping the 4 cm rule was just a loose guide. And crying gets me what I want sometimes. It did in this case! She said the doctor would be in shortly.
Sunday, 1:55 a.m. While I was writhing on the bed, I noticed my nurse push in a cart that said “EPI” in big letters. “That means epidural!” I cried to Darling Husband. “It’s coming!” I had never been so happy to see those three letters.
Sunday, 2 a.m. The anesthesiologist came in. It was actually a resident — some youngish, not-very-nice woman with a French accent. I didn’t care who she was, or how nice she was, at that point.
Sunday, 2:01 a.m. Somewhere behind me, I heard a full-fledged anesthesiologist directing her. In my haze of pain, I wasn’t cluing in that a freaking RESIDENT was about to give me my epidural — you know, the thing that could paralyze me!
Sunday, 2:02 a.m. The resident — or maybe it was the nurse? — explained the chance of side effects. I just babbled that I knew there were risks and I was TOTALLY COOL WITH IT. Please begin. Please, please, please!
Sunday, 2:03 a.m. They got me to sit up on the bed, with my legs hanging over one side. I leaned against Darling Husband’s chest, and they kept telling me to give them “really bad posture.” I’m very conscious about keeping my back nice and straight all of the time, so it felt weird to hunch like that.
Sunday, 2:04 a.m. The contractions were coming less than a minute apart, and the pain was so bad that I couldn’t stay still, as hard as I was trying.
Sunday, 2:05 a.m. Enter the blessed Fentanyl. It went straight into my IV, and it eased the pain enough so that I could stay still as they did the epidural. I felt cold wetness on my back (alcohol or something to sterilize it). I braced myself to feel a “crunching needle,” like I’d read about, but never did.
Sunday, 2:10 a.m. “I’m so high!” I moaned to Darling Husband. “I’m going to fall off the bed! I’m so hiiiiigh!” Yeah, drugs hit me hard. I am the same girl, after all, who once slept for 30 hours after a dose of Contact C.
Sunday, 2:11 a.m. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I was slumped against Darling Husband, and whenever I opened my eyes, I tried to focus on the logo on his T-shirt.
Sunday, 2:12 a.m. “Fentanyl is the best,” I mumbled. “Oh my God, I love drugs. I LOVE DRUGS!”
Sunday, 2:30 a.m. The epidural was finished, and the anesthesiologists slipped away as quietly as when they arrived.
Sunday, 3 a.m. Just realized that a resident gave me the epidural — and she was new enough to need supervision! Shit, I would have totally spoken up and insisted on the full-fledged anesthesiologist, if I’d been thinking clearly.
Sunday, 3:01 a.m. Oh well, the pain was better. And hopefully I wouldn’t be paralyzed.
Sunday, 3 a.m. to 5 a.m. Darling Husband was no longer at my mercy during the contractions, because I was feeling OK. I insisted he go sleep in the rocking chair in the corner, and he was out cold seconds later. I laid in the bed quietly while the nurse wrote things down at a little desk nearby. The pain was not gone gone, but it had faded a lot. I could still feel each contraction, but just barely. I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t screaming. I couldn’t sleep, though. I couldn’t take my eyes off the monitor measuring Baby Boy’s heartrate. I was so worried about him. If labour felt this traumatic to me, how was it feeling to him? I just wanted him out safely.
Sunday, 5 a.m. Darling Husband woke up because I was starting to breathe hard again. The Pitocin had been flowing steadily into me ever since 11 p.m. The epidural felt like it was wearing off, even though I think the nurse explained (several times) that it was not. I was feeling the contractions again. Feeling them so strongly that I had to focus and breathe through them. Still not screaming, but … ow, ow, ow!
Sunday, 5:55 a.m. The nurse looked at me curiously, and said something about how she was surprised I was needing to breathe through them. She thought she should check me again, and I immediately scrambled into position.
Sunday, 6 a.m. The nurse checked me, and announced that I was dilated 7 cm. SEVEN! I was finally happy with the progress. “You’ve really motored along,” I remember her commenting.
And that’s when things started to get messy …
Phatness update
I had heard that after you have a baby, you leave the hospital looking “four or five months pregnant.” Hells no, I’m happy to say! Finally, a pleasant surprise about the whole labour/delivery/postpartum experience.
I was actually prancing around my hospital room on the second day of Baby Boy’s life, going, “Look how skinny I am! Look how SKINNY I am!” I was positively GLEEFUL — and damn proud! — at how quickly it had happened.
OK, so I am not skinny. But God, compared to how HUGE I have felt for the last nine months, I feel downright frail.
Remember my puffy ankles, feet and calves? Gone, as of a couple of days ago! (Apparently you remain swollen for the first few days, because of IV fluid, hormones, etc.) I stared at my ankles and calves for like 20 minutes straight today, marveling over how I could see the bones and muscles again. I could actually wear a skirt or shorts now, and not feel like they are tree trunks.
And my huge stomach? DEFLATED! I had heard it’s very squishy and loose-feeling after you have the baby, but it’s not too bad. I think I had been picturing huge wobbly rolls or something — it looks pretty firm, but just feels a bit mushy. I’m not sure if it will continue to go down — if my uterus is still shrinking? — or if what’s left is mine to lose, but we’ll see.
It’s been very hot this week, so I have been walking around our condo wearing nothing but underwear and tank tops. Sometimes just underwear and a nursing bra. When I walk into the bathroom, yes, I turn sideways immediately and marvel at the change. It’s like, where did my GREAT BIG ENORMOUS STOMACH GO?
Oh right, he is here in my arms. Much nicer!
My Birth Story: Part 1
It started off like any other day off for Darling Husband. I waited as long as I could, and then woke up him — feeling extremely cranky and pregnant — and begged him to take me out. “I need to walk around. I need to walk the baby out!” I had been walking like crazy for more than a week, and I felt like it was all I could do to try and bring on labour.
We walked around the mall, did a little shopping — I ended up buying his Father’s Day card and present, which is extremely convenient since I’m not getting back to a mall anytime soon! — and had lunch in the food court. I was tired, but I still wanted to keep walking. We drove around to some big-box stores in the industrial park, and continued the endless walking. Around mid-afternoon, I was too tired to keep walking, so we headed home.
Daring Husband decided around suppertime that he was going to call in sick for his night shift. It was to be his last shift (at his part-time job) before his vacation, and just felt like he wanted to me with me. He said he had a feeling something might happen. I disagreed, and kind of thought he was just being lazy. Little did I know! …
Saturday, 7:14 p.m. Darling Husband and I were hanging out on the couch, watching the news a documentary a totally mature movie Disney/Pixar’s Cars. He loves that movie.
Saturday, 7:15 p.m. I felt a small gush in my underwear. “Oh! I think I just peed a little!” I told Darling Husband. “But … that’s weird, because I wasn’t laughing or anything … OH! There’s more! Aughh!” I paused. “Maybe my water broke?” Darling Husband looked panicked. “Well, go to the bathroom! Go check!”
Saturday, 7:16 p.m. I felt another small gush on the way to the bathroom. When I sat down on the toilet and pulled down my pajama pants, I saw the whole crotch was wet and yellowish. Damn, maybe it is pee, I thought. But it didn’t smell like pee, and when I touched the fabric, it was slimy.
Saturday, 7:17 p.m. Darling Husband refused to smell my wet pants (gee, I wonder why, ew), but I was convinced my water had broken. Unfortunately, from my reading, I knew that the fact that it was yellowish probably meant the baby had pooed inside of me.
Saturday, 7:18 p.m. Darling Husband brought me my cell phone, as I sat stranded on the toilet, and I called the labour assessment unit to tell them what happened. They said it sounded exactly like my water had broken, and to head to the hospital. Woo hoo!
Saturday, 7:19 p.m. Darling Husband flew into action, gathering up the been-packed-for-two-months hospital bags. I tried to wipe myself off, but the fluid kept slopping out of me. I soaked one pad completely and had to change it before I’d even left the toilet. It just wouldn’t stop coming out! I finally just yanked a pair of Darling Husband’s boxers overtop my underwear. By the time I stood up, I had soaked through the pad, my underwear, his underwear, and my pants. It looked like there was no end in sight, so I just grabbed a beach towel to sit on in the car.
Saturday, 7:35 p.m. Darling Husband dropped Little Dog off at his parents’ place, while I waited in the car excitedly making calls and sending texts. I wasn’t feeling any contractions, and other like feeling like a world-class pants-peer, I was doing great!
Saturday, 8 p.m. Darling Husband pulled up in front of the hospital, in the special place where you can park short-term in order to bring in your labouring wifey. We left the bags in the car for him to retrieve later, and booted it to the check-in desk.
Saturday, 8:05 p.m. After handing over my health card and signing a couple pieces of paper, we got to go up the special elevator that leads straight to the delivery area. I went right up to the desk and explained I was the girl who had called about her water breaking, and they couldn’t believe we were there so quickly. I was thinking, uh, what else was I going to do? Finish the movie???
Saturday, 8:10 p.m. I had remembered from our pre-admission tour that you were supposed to bring your underwear that your water had broken in, so they could test it to make sure it was amniotic fluid. I hadn’t been wearing underwear, but I’d dutifully brought my soaked PJ bottoms in a ziplock bag. They ended up just using the soaked pad for their test, but were impressed that I had brought the pants. Apparently no one remembers to do that. Gold star for me.
Saturday, 8:15 p.m. They wanted a urine sample, so I went to a little bathroom and peed in a cup. The fluid was still slopping out of me, and when I tried to stand up, it went all over the toilet seat and the floor. Gross! It took a while for me to get myself, the floor, and the seat cleaned up. Such a strange feeling to have slime leaking out of you!
Saturday, 8:30 p.m. I was reclined on a bed in a little “holding area” while they confirmed my water had broken. They strapped a few monitors on me, and determined I was having some mild contractions. Baby Boy’s heartrate was strong. All was good.
Saturday, 9 p.m. The nurse dropped the bomb that I would need to be induced, even though I was already having contractions on my own. They said it was standard to induce me because I’d tested positive for Group B Strep, and I think the baby-pooing-inside-of-me might have been a factor, too. I was not crazy about being induced, because I knew it would mean MAJOR PAIN, but I was fine with it.
Saturday, 9:30 p.m. After one false attempt (still have the bruise!), they got an IV started with just fluids.
Saturday, 9:45 p.m. We got to our delivery room, which was huge and really nice. It was identical to the room we’d viewed on our hospital tour, so it was nice to see a familiar place. Darling Husband went to move the car and get the bags, while I excitedly walked around, dragging my IV behind me.
Saturday, 10:20 p.m. I got changed into a hospital gown, pair of disposal underwear, and a giant hospital-issue pad. I was feeling the contractions, but they were still mild. My nurse bustled around, getting things set up for the induction.
Saturday, 11 p.m. The induction began exactly at 11 p.m. The nurse explained that the doses of Pitocin would go up gradually, every 30 minutes. It started at three, then would jump to six, and then double to 12, etc. until it reached a maximum of 120.
Saturday, 11:45 p.m. They still had not checked my cervix, so I had no idea how dilated I might be. I really wanted to know, but I was also afraid it would only be 1 cm — or not at all!
Saturday, 12 a.m. “The baby will definitely be born today!” I remember telling Darling Husband excitedly. I knew they wouldn’t let me be in labour for more than 24 hours, which meant he was definitely coming today, June 6. I knew his birthday! He was going to be born exactly one day early!
Saturday, 12:30 a.m. Mom and Little Sis were too excited to wait at home, so they popped in to see me. By that point, I was bouncing on the birthing ball, and starting to really feel the contractions. The nurse showed Darling Husband how to push my hips together during each contraction, and that helped a bit. I was able to talk to them in between contractions, but it was getting painful.
Saturday, 12:35 a.m. Mom nervously commented that the contractions seemed REALLY close together — like a little more than a minute apart. I briefly wondered if maybe I was at 10 cm, and the baby was going to pop out any second? Oh, if only!
Saturday, 12:36 a.m. The nurse noticed how close the contractions were, and asked Mom and Little Sis to leave so she could check my cervix. I laid on the bed and braced for it to hurt. It felt a tiny bit more painful than a pap test.
Saturday, 12:37 a.m. The nurse announced I was 1-2 cm. “That’s it???” I remember crying. It sounded like nothing at all. I told her I was choosing to be optimistic, and was considering it 2 cm.
Saturday, 12:45 a.m. The nurse said Mom and Little Sis were asking to come back in, but I said no. The pain was much, much worse, and it was all I could do to handle each contraction — as of yet, with zero pain medication. They asked if they could just say good-bye, but I refused. I didn’t want to see anyone except Darling Husband.
Saturday, 12:46 a.m. Darling Husband made the mistake of putting his hand too close to my mouth. As I squeezed it, I bit it.
Saturday, 12:47 a.m. Rest in between contractions. I apologized for biting him.
Saturday, 12:48 a.m. Grabbed both his thumbs and bent them to the sides.
Saturday, 12:49 a.m. Apologized for trying to break his thumbs.
Continue reading PART 2 of my birth story …
Adventures in breastfeeding
I’m glad I had mentally prepared for breastfeeding to be tough, because in the beginning, it really is. Like Omigod-this-is-awful kind of tough. Way more than I thought.
Here’s a quick re-cap of the first week, for those of you who are considering breastfeeding. I wish I had read a firsthand account before having Baby Boy, because it was not what I was expecting (at all!) …
Day 1 (Sunday):
The hospital where I delivered Baby Boy is extremely pro-breastfeeding, so luckily I had lots of help from the nurses. I got to put Baby Boy skin-to-skin about half an hour after he was born, as soon as I was in the recovery room. They helped me put him to the breast, and I think he sort of sucked a bit — he was alert, but I was still very dazed at that point. Ahhh, drugs. More on that later!
On the first night, we were having trouble getting him latched on. One nurse did it perfectly, but when she went off shift, the next nurse wasn’t as skilled. So she showed me how to hand-express the creamy yellowish drops of colostrum, and feed it to Baby Boy drop by drop on my fingertip. I couldn’t believe he’d actually get any kind of satisfaction from so little, but he did! About about 30 drops or so, he calmed down enough to get some sleep. It felt kind of cool to know my body could do that.
When the “good” breastfeeding-helper nurse came back in the morning, she helped me get him latched on again — and from then on I’ve been able to get him latched on myself. He’s been a champion feeder ever since, which is good news for him, but has been very hard for my boobs! I swear, he has teeth right beneath the surface of his gums. Owwwwwie!
Day 2 (Monday):
On the second night, we got to experience the hell that is “cluster feeding.” That’s when they are starving and basically eat nonstop trying to feel full. Darling Husband and I didn’t get any sleep that night, except for about an hour, as I was constantly switching Baby Boy from left to right and back to the left again. OW!
The nurses all commented that he had a great latch but a furious suck, so because he was eating so frequently, my poor nipples cracked and bled and developed ugly scabs. I put lots of lanolin cream on them whenever I could, but my poor little guy was constantly hungry. It was so bad that at some points I’d look at Darling Husband (who would be holding the baby) and say, “He’s not hungry again, is he? Oh, no no no, please! Ow!” and actually cup my boobs instinctively to protect them.
Baby Boy continued to feed very frequently on the third day, and I spent most of it asking the nurses — somewhat desperately — when they thought my milk would come in. Baby Boy was only one day old, and they said it usually comes in when they are three or four days old.
Day 3 (Tuesday):
By the time the third night rolled around, I was a complete mess. We’d been up all night — except for that one hour — and he’d been awake and feeding most of the day, too. It’s almost a blur now, but I remember sitting in a chair in the room, trying to spoon in rice and cooked carrots, as tears poured down my face and I stared at the wall. Rice was falling everywhere, and I just looked blankly at the nurse when she came in to check on us. I was so far past the point of exhaustion that I couldn’t stop crying.
The nurse took one look at me and told Darling Husband that the most important thing was to get me to sleep. We told her how much the baby was eating, and she said I was to feed him, then immediately hand him to Darling Husband. He was to settle him in the bassinet to sleep, and if he couldn’t get him to sleep right away, he was to walk the halls with him — leaving me to sleep alone in the room.
It was a perfect plan, and luckily Baby Boy wasn’t quite as hungry as he’d been during the horrible second night. I fed him, handed him off, and was able to grab an hour and a half of sleep. I remember waking up and feeling as rested as if I’d had a full night! It was wonderful. We repeated the process a couple of times, and I felt much more human when I woke up on Wednesday (the fourth day).
Days 4, 5 and 6 (Wednesday, Thursday, Friday):
We were released from the hospital on Wednesday, and by that point I was relieved to come home. I was worried about being away from the nurses at the touch of a button, but felt we would get more rest away from the noise and the chaos.
My milk actually started coming in exactly 72 hours after Baby Boy came into the world. It began just as we left the hospital, and I had to deal with some very sore boobs that afternoon — as they filled up and felt like boulders! Luckily, Baby Boy is such a good eater that he drains them well, and I haven’t had that “boulder” sensation since.
Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights went pretty much the same way. I’d try to get Baby Boy nice and full, we’d swaddled him, and put him in his bassinet next to our bed. He’d sleep for between an hour and an hour and forty minutes, and then we’d get him up, feed him again, change him, swaddle him, give him a “top-up” (a.k.a five more minutes of feeding to calm him after the diaper change), and put him back to bed. Sometimes he’d settle, sometimes he wouldn’t. But I was definitely getting the hang of feeding him, since I was doing it so often.
Day 7 (Saturday):
By this point, my scabs were gone, and my boobs were feeling MUCH better. Baby Boy’s latch was still as strong as ever, but it wasn’t hurting like it had. I was only feeling the occasional twinge, when he really attacked me with his HARD gums. We had the routine down to a science — well, as much as you can call “constantly either sleeping or feeding” a routine — and he actually slept for his first three-hour stretch. Success!
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Today, Baby Boy is nine days old — yes, I’ve been singing the Peas Porridge Hot rhyme all day, in honour of his nine-day birthday. And I have to say that breastfeeding is SO MUCH BETTER than I could have imagined four or five days ago.
Baby Boy is a pro at latching on, and hardly ever needs to be guided anymore. I can do it one-handed. He’s chubbing up nicely. My boobs feel great. And the whole gazing-into-each-other’s-eyes/bonding stuff you hear about? So totally and completely wonderful.
If I had to sum up breastfeeding to a mommy-to-be, I’d say HOLY HELL, AT FIRST IT’S PAINFUL/DIFFICULT/NO SLEEP/AUGHHH but then WAIT, HANG IN THERE AND IT GETS SO MUCH BETTER! JUST SOLDIER IT OUT FOR THE FIRST FEW DAYS!
Oh, and the weight loss is pretty freaking great, too. More on that — and the birth story! — coming soon! Promise!
He’s here …
It’s taken me a while to get online to share the news with you, my dearest readers, but I’ve been BURSTING to tell you that Baby Boy is here, and he is absolutely perfect.
I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve touched a computer since Saturday afternoon — definitely a record for me. It’s a perfect example of how much my life has changed in just six days. You know those commercials — I think for Johnson & Johnson — with the tagline, “Having a baby changes everything?” I now totally know what they mean!
It feels like everything pre-baby (well, everything from before Saturday evening, when my water broke) is a dream from a long time ago. I can hardly remember what is feels like to be pregnant — good thing I have lots of posts to remind me in detail! I can hardly remember what it feels like to not have him here with us.
He is my entire world now. I knew, in an abstract sort of way, that he would be my whole life. But actually living it is a different story. In the same way that I knew he would be a lot of work, and that I’d be tired — but actually doing the work and feeling that tiredness is so much different.
Baby Boy is crying now to be fed, so I have to run. But I have SO much to tell you, and I promise to sneak to the computer whenever I can to share the birth story (teaser: HOLYCRAPTHEPAIN), my recovery from my emergency C-section (teaser: OW) what it’s been like breastfeeding (teaser: scabs galore), and every detail of my angelic little boy (teaser: perfection).
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Heather's Handmade Life 