My Journey to Parenthood Part 3
To get caught up, you can read Part 1 and Part 2
Well, finally, nine days after my estimated due date of November 11, I was having contractions.
They began at ten am Saturday morning, and were intense on and off all day long. And night. And into the next morning. They were not regular, but enough to catch my breath and occupy my thoughts. They kept me awake, and hubs on occasion, when they were too painful to deal with alone. But as much as they commanded my attention, they hadn't slipped into that nice easy pattern the Labour & Delivery nurses wanted.
Sunday we timed them as we were seeing that glorious rhythm - every nine to ten minutes, roughly forty-five seconds long. According to our labour cheat sheet - we were in labour. Yahoo. Finally.
We walked; we rested; we checked in with the hospital. Because the contractions were not close enough together, if we came in for an assessment, we'd just be sent home. Not what we wanted or needed, so we tried napping since I hadn't slept much. The nap proved impossible. For us both.
We walked around some more - it didn't help. We played games - I lost. We rested.
We chatted with family and the in-laws who were now in town to visit the first grandbaby, eagerly awaiting grandbaby #2, because you know, I was holding out. Haha.
Nothing brought the contractions closer together, but they weren't far enough apart to really rest from them either. Every seven to eight minutes is not a rest.
That evening we went out for supper with my parents and hubs' parents. I couldn't eat. Enough was enough. I needed to know what the hell was going on. I had been labouring for 34 hours by time we finished supper and arrived at the hospital, and it was about that long since I'd slept. A tired, cranky, prodromal labouring mom who's way overdue and can't eat is not the poster child for happiness.
In the assessment room, the on-call OB deemed I was in actual labour (insert angry eye-roll - I could've told them that) and I would be staying until my baby was born. Which, foolishly, I figured had to be soon. It had now been 36 hours.
Haha. They checked me - I was 4 cm.
FOUR bleeping CENTIMETERS.
I'd been in labour for 36 hours and my cervix was open 4 measly centimeters. (Goal is 10 cm, if you didn't know). Nothing like that devastation in the midst of labour. (For reference I was three cms at a doctors appointment a few days prior). I was exhausted, frustrated and feeling as if I were broken all over again. A nice way to book end the pregnancy. Rough start, easy middle, nightmareish end. If I only knew that the nightmare was just beginning.
I'll spare you all the details and sum up with this: I had back labour. Excruciating back pain that never fully disappears between contractions. This went on all through the night. By seven am, with another check that had me at 4 cm still - I was done. Cue hot tears, crushing disappointment and a touch a internal rage because I felt like I couldn't get pregnant on my own, and now 41+ weeks later, I wasn't able to give birth either. Yep, my fatigue and mental exhaustion pushed me over the edge. I was ready to check out and go home. Forget this!
There were whisperings between the nurses about the labour. How things were stalling. Plans to get things moving. I tried to tune them out, but it was impossible. I knew what they were suggesting.
I gave in to my fears and agreed to an epidural. A giant needle would be inserted between two vertabre in my back to numb the pain, as maybe my fear of the pain was what was holding me back from allowing my body to do what was instinctual. And yes, fear can do that.
The epidural was finally going after FOUR attempts, and I was hooked up to an oxytocin drip to get things moving along.
By noon, I was checked again (8 cm - HUGE improvement) BUT the whispers were louder now. The baby had not descended into my pelvis properly but yet the head was already starting to cone. Bad sign. Plus, there were blood clots present the on-call OB didn't like. She'd be coming back in twenty minutes to reassess.
And as promised, she came back. Thinking that breaking the water would likely open my cervix completely as the baby's head applied direct pressure, that's what she did. What she didn't expect (or at least never said anything with earshot) was the amount of blood that poured out with the amniotic fluid. An order of "get her into OR now" silenced the space for a heartbeat. She disappeared and the room became a tornado of activity as papers were signed, my bed was moved and hubs was given scrubs.
In the cold operating room, I was strapped to the table, tears falling from my eyes. Had we come this far only to lose out in the end? I begged the neonatologist to save my child, as we had no idea was was going on. No one was talking to us, and we didn't understand what they were saying to each other. My epidural was topped up quickly. My hubs ran in. My baby was born at 12:38pm - less than twenty minutes after breaking the water.
A soft cry filled the room. My baby was alive, but the cry sounded as if it came from thirty feet away instead of an arm's length. The anesthetist asked if she could announce the sex of the baby because someone needed to. It was her that announced, "It's a BOY!"
After a quick kiss on my baby's forehead, he was whisked away to the NICU (neo-natal intensive care unit). I did not get to hold him or see him, but I sent my husband to stay with him. Once I was out of recovery (three hours later), I was wheeled past his temporary home, where I did finally hold him - for literally all of three minutes - before they took him back. It was only hours later, nearly 6 pm, when I got my son back in my arms permanently. (My had some minor breathing issues but had recovered beautifully.)
This journey - albeit a rough one - thankfully had an incredible happy ending. As it turned out, we were mere minutes away from losing our baby. The placenta was 90% detached, and his life, unknown to hubs or I, was in danger. The quick thinking and actions of the hospital staff saved us both. For that, I am incredibly grateful.
Every day with my son has been a gift. He turns 14 (ack - getting his Learner's License for driving!!!) on the 22nd of November. And for him, I'd do it all over again! Happy birthday JellyBean!
The birth of our second baby is quite a bit different - and if interested, you can read that story here.
My Journey to Parenthood Part 3
Well, finally, nine days after my estimated due date of November 11, I was having contractions.
They began at ten am Saturday morning, and were intense on and off all day long. And night. And into the next morning. They were not regular, but enough to catch my breath and occupy my thoughts. They kept me awake, and hubs on occasion, when they were too painful to deal with alone. But as much as they commanded my attention, they hadn't slipped into that nice easy pattern the Labour & Delivery nurses wanted.
Sunday we timed them as we were seeing that glorious rhythm - every nine to ten minutes, roughly forty-five seconds long. According to our labour cheat sheet - we were in labour. Yahoo. Finally.
We walked; we rested; we checked in with the hospital. Because the contractions were not close enough together, if we came in for an assessment, we'd just be sent home. Not what we wanted or needed, so we tried napping since I hadn't slept much. The nap proved impossible. For us both.
We walked around some more - it didn't help. We played games - I lost. We rested.
We chatted with family and the in-laws who were now in town to visit the first grandbaby, eagerly awaiting grandbaby #2, because you know, I was holding out. Haha.
Nothing brought the contractions closer together, but they weren't far enough apart to really rest from them either. Every seven to eight minutes is not a rest.
In the assessment room, the on-call OB deemed I was in actual labour (insert angry eye-roll - I could've told them that) and I would be staying until my baby was born. Which, foolishly, I figured had to be soon. It had now been 36 hours.
Haha. They checked me - I was 4 cm.
FOUR bleeping CENTIMETERS.
I'd been in labour for 36 hours and my cervix was open 4 measly centimeters. (Goal is 10 cm, if you didn't know). Nothing like that devastation in the midst of labour. (For reference I was three cms at a doctors appointment a few days prior). I was exhausted, frustrated and feeling as if I were broken all over again. A nice way to book end the pregnancy. Rough start, easy middle, nightmareish end. If I only knew that the nightmare was just beginning.
I'll spare you all the details and sum up with this: I had back labour. Excruciating back pain that never fully disappears between contractions. This went on all through the night. By seven am, with another check that had me at 4 cm still - I was done. Cue hot tears, crushing disappointment and a touch a internal rage because I felt like I couldn't get pregnant on my own, and now 41+ weeks later, I wasn't able to give birth either. Yep, my fatigue and mental exhaustion pushed me over the edge. I was ready to check out and go home. Forget this!
There were whisperings between the nurses about the labour. How things were stalling. Plans to get things moving. I tried to tune them out, but it was impossible. I knew what they were suggesting.
I gave in to my fears and agreed to an epidural. A giant needle would be inserted between two vertabre in my back to numb the pain, as maybe my fear of the pain was what was holding me back from allowing my body to do what was instinctual. And yes, fear can do that.
The epidural was finally going after FOUR attempts, and I was hooked up to an oxytocin drip to get things moving along.
By noon, I was checked again (8 cm - HUGE improvement) BUT the whispers were louder now. The baby had not descended into my pelvis properly but yet the head was already starting to cone. Bad sign. Plus, there were blood clots present the on-call OB didn't like. She'd be coming back in twenty minutes to reassess.
And as promised, she came back. Thinking that breaking the water would likely open my cervix completely as the baby's head applied direct pressure, that's what she did. What she didn't expect (or at least never said anything with earshot) was the amount of blood that poured out with the amniotic fluid. An order of "get her into OR now" silenced the space for a heartbeat. She disappeared and the room became a tornado of activity as papers were signed, my bed was moved and hubs was given scrubs.
In the cold operating room, I was strapped to the table, tears falling from my eyes. Had we come this far only to lose out in the end? I begged the neonatologist to save my child, as we had no idea was was going on. No one was talking to us, and we didn't understand what they were saying to each other. My epidural was topped up quickly. My hubs ran in. My baby was born at 12:38pm - less than twenty minutes after breaking the water.
 |
| My Beautiful Baby - hours old |
A soft cry filled the room. My baby was alive, but the cry sounded as if it came from thirty feet away instead of an arm's length. The anesthetist asked if she could announce the sex of the baby because someone needed to. It was her that announced, "It's a BOY!"
After a quick kiss on my baby's forehead, he was whisked away to the NICU (neo-natal intensive care unit). I did not get to hold him or see him, but I sent my husband to stay with him. Once I was out of recovery (three hours later), I was wheeled past his temporary home, where I did finally hold him - for literally all of three minutes - before they took him back. It was only hours later, nearly 6 pm, when I got my son back in my arms permanently. (My had some minor breathing issues but had recovered beautifully.)
This journey - albeit a rough one - thankfully had an incredible happy ending. As it turned out, we were mere minutes away from losing our baby. The placenta was 90% detached, and his life, unknown to hubs or I, was in danger. The quick thinking and actions of the hospital staff saved us both. For that, I am incredibly grateful.
Every day with my son has been a gift. He turns 14 (ack - getting his Learner's License for driving!!!) on the 22nd of November. And for him, I'd do it all over again! Happy birthday JellyBean!
The birth of our second baby is quite a bit different - and if interested, you can read that story here.
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