On Wednesday, November 26, 2008, I woke up at 5:00 in the morning to finish packing my bag. Shower gel, shampoo, face wash, granny panties, sleep shorts, comfy workout pants, tank tops, nursing bra, body pillow, camera, batteries, DVDs, phone charger, baby bag.
Chris and Mom and I got in the car around 5:45 and drove to the hospital. About halfway there, I realized that I’d packed my phone charger, but not my phone. Minor freak out. Chris reassured me that he’d go back for it once I was checked in. Mom reminded me that I likely had all day to call people.
We checked in at 6:00, along with another couple. I suppose their baby came much quicker, because I was the only one in the New Life Center the following day. I got my room (lucky number 3) and, as directed, changed out of my comfy, stretchy yoga pants into a rough cloth “gown” that I loathed for the next 16 hours. They told me that my doctor would be in around 8 to break my water, and in the meantime hooked me up to a few IVs, including the dreaded Pitocin.
Since Dr. C wasn’t coming in for a couple of hours, Chris and mom went to get breakfast, my phone, and some Sonic ice (of course) for me. Go figure – about 10 minutes after they left, in walked Dr. C, ready to break my water. He pulled out this gigantic crochet-needle-looking-thing, which made me feel like I peed my pants for the first time since I was 5 or 6. (They don’t tell you that it just keeps leaking out of you for the next hour… ugh.) He asked if I was having any contractions yet – which is about the time I realized that this odd cramping sensation I felt was actually just that, and that I’d been having those for a couple of weeks. Imagine that. He said he’d figured that was the case, that they’d be getting stronger as the Pitocin kicked in, and good luck with going all natural.
I asked if I could walk around and use my yoga ball, at which point I was informed that, since my water had been broken, I couldn’t get out of bed until the baby came – not even to pee. (Good to know for next time.) Something about the cord prolapsing, which would put the baby in danger. So much for naturally progressing labor; Pitocin it was, and that’s all it was.
Once mom and Chris got back, I called Lisa, my amazing godsend birthcoach, to let her know that I was checked in with broken water and a Pitocin drip. She said she was going to finish packing up the family (they were going out of town for Thanksgiving the next day) and head on over. She arrived around 10, and was there until almost midnight. (There are no words for how much this woman means to me, you guys. No words.)
The next several hours were pretty slow and boring. I called a few people for moral support, and was mightily encouraged. If I recall correctly, I talked to Ashley (former roomie, wonderful friend, and at the time mom of 1 with another on the way), Amy (childhood best friend, also mom of 2, would give my life for this girl), and Becky (my seester from high school who makes my heart happy). In fact, Becky talked me through quite a few contractions that day; I’d warn her when one was coming, and she’d up the conversation to keep me distracted until I was able to contribute again. Definitely made some of those moments easier.
Speaking of contractions.
As awful as they are, I can – for certain, 100%, without a doubt – confirm what I’ve said before, after a year of time to reflect on it: I would gladly go through labor two or three times if it meant not having hyperemesis gravidarum again. Gladly. Just for the record.
(And while we’re at it: having to pee in a bedpan with the assistance of several people is fairly close to the bottom of my list of Things I Really Enjoy Doing With Lots of Other People Coming In and Out of My Room.)
(One more thing for the record: I only cussed once the entire day, and it wasn’t while I was in hardcore labor. It was when I was watching When Harry Met Sally – which is stinking hilarious – and I was quoting a line along with the film. So that totally doesn’t count. I didn’t cuss while pushing a large child out of my body. I think the Casting Crowns playing on my iPod in the background helped.)
I really wanted to have a completely drug-free labor. Unfortunately, since the baby was so big and I was so ready to be done being pregnant, we decided to induce, and a lot of my plans were already out the window. Around 6 that evening I reached my breaking point. I had been sitting at 7 centimeters for almost 3 hours, with no progression. But the contractions were one on top of another, with hardly any room to catch my breath in between. I looked at Lisa and said, “Are you guys going to be disappointed in me?” She took my hand, looked me dead in the eyes, and replied, “This is your labor and your baby – you do what you need to do and nobody is going to think any less of you.” I told her that I just couldn’t handle any more, and my body wasn’t ready to push yet, so I needed something to help me. At that point, we called the nurse back in and asked for the epidural.
Not half an hour later, I was bent over a pillow, talking to Chris and Lisa, while this hysterical dude stuck a needle in my back. About a minute later, I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. It was amazing.
But of course, all good things come at a price: less than ten minutes into the epidural, I felt horribly nauseous, and they brought me some Jell-o to settle my stomach. Which came up about five minutes later. At that point, they brought in my old friend, Phenergan, and with that sweet drug running through the IV and into my veins, I crashed into a much-needed nap.
When I woke up around 9, the epidural had completely worn off – hence why I claim to have still had a natural labor. I felt my toes, my legs, my thighs, my contractions… yes, they were still there, and at the worst I’d felt that day. I also felt like (please excuse me for borrowing an expression from my dear husband) I had to drop the kids off at the pool, if you know what I mean. (That’s something else they don’t tell you – when you’re ready to push, it feels like you have to poop. No other way to say it.) I told Lisa, and Chris ushered our moms out of the room and got the nurse to come check me. Sure enough: 9 centimeters and moving right along. It was time.
I started pushing around 9:20. I don’t even know how to describe what that felt like, nor that I should if I did. I don’t want to scare anyone out of having a baby. Suffice it to say that I’d never felt pain like that before in my life, and anyone who tells you that “God lets you forget the pain” is full of it or has a bad memory and thinks everyone else does, too. I don’t recall saying much, if anything, while in active, pushing labor. I mostly sat there with my eyes closed, Chris holding my right hand, Lisa holding my left hand, nurse at my feet, and breathed. And breathed. And breathed. I breathed a lot that night. I probably looked like what Chris looks like when he’s tubing: eyes scrunched shut, lips pursed, cheeks puffing in and out… very silly. But hey, whatever works. (It did.)
At some point, Lisa exclaimed, “Jessie! He has a faux hawk! He has so much hair!” At that point, Chris broke his promise: he looked. I suppose one can’t help but look when hearing something like that, so I guess I’ll let it slide. Someone asked if I wanted to reach down and feel, which I most certainly did not at that point because I needed to keep breathing or I’d explode from pain.
(BIG THING THAT THEY DON’T TELL YOU THAT YOU NEED TO KNOW: most nurses don’t actually call the doctor back until the baby crowns – which DOES NOT MEAN that you can merely SEE the head. It means that THE HEAD IS STICKING HALFWAY OUT OF YOU. Just so you know.)
After I felt like I must surely have done something typically done into a toilet bowl, the nurse told me that the baby had crowned, and that it was (finally!) time to call Dr. C back. I somehow managed to say that I was ready to push again, and to my horror I was told “no.” ”No?” NO??? Everything in my body was telling me to push this kid out, that it was time, but Lisa and Chris held my hands and kept breathing with me for what felt like about twelve hours. Just as Lisa (so she tells me) was about to whisper in my ear to go ahead and push, and that she’d catch the baby herself, Chris said, “Hey, look who’s here!” I opened my eyes for a millisecond, just long enough to see Dr. C walking into the room, taking off his baseball cap. I then uttered the only other words that came from my mouth through the pushing:
KYLE! YOU GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME RIGHT NOW!!! I CAN’T DO THIS ANY MORE!
To which he replied, “Just let me get my gloves on!” I’m telling you, this man knew I meant business – he still had his hoodie on over his scrubs. So, sometime in the next few minutes (at 10:12), as I felt like I was taking the most painful poop of my entire life, I heard a really angry, infantile cry, combined with several exclamations of, ” Look at all that hair!”
I distinctly remember Chris telling me, “Open your eyes! Look at your baby!” But I just needed a few seconds to catch my breath, so I took them.
When I finally opened my eyes, I was greeted with a slimy, gooey, screaming little guy with matted hair, wrapped in a blue blanket, being handed to me.
I don’t remember much of the rest of the night… I got stitched up, I was told that my son weighed 9 pounds (no surprise there), I soaked in a tub full of hot water and no longer cared how many people saw me… childbirth really changes your perspective of modesty.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008 was the longest, most pain-filled day of my entire existence.
Wednesday, Nobember 26, 2008 was the hardest, most worthwhile day of my entire existence.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008 – one year ago – was the day I realized how much potential my life truly has. All thanks to this little guy.
That little guy, who is now this (not so) little guy:
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