While Spawnling enjoys copious amounts of milk at breasts that are far larger than I remember them ever getting (I think they've made B horror movies about things this nightmarishly large) I'm going to get down to bidnis in one-handed, new-mom fashion and type out a birth story of sorts.
4:30am, Thursday, Oct. 12th
I wake up for the day. I can't decide if the painful contractions or the preschooler who wound up next to me in bed (along with his big brother) and is kicking the covers off me contantly is the main culprit, but I'm up and too excited to sleep. I shower and compose a letter to my baby, getting all mushy-like.
7:00am
Geekster and Intrepid are awake. My brother, Chux0r, makes his way over to watch Gutsy for the day. Intrepid tells the Fetus Formally Known as InUtero Boy that he can't wait to meet him and heads off to school. I eat some cereal, a banana and drink some coffee.
8:30am
Geekster and I get to the hospital and, naturally, I have to pee in a cup, replace my fitting clothes with a gown that generously reveals my enormous pregnant ass (it got a lot of use in the last couple of months) and am hooked up to a monitor. I get to press a button every time I feel baby move (which means I'm always pressing the damn button). I get to breathe through contractions that we realize, surprisingly, are coming every 8 minutes on the dot. It looks like I'm already in early labour.
9:00am
My doctor comes in and examines me. I'm dilated 2 1/2cm. The baby is engaged, but he's not down as far as he could be. Still, we decide to assault my privates with a crochet hook and get the party started. My water breaks easily and the contractions begin to pick up in no time. I move to a private room and get to wear huge pads in my undies to attempt to control the oh-so-appetizing gush of warm liquids. Birth may be a beautiful, natural occurance, but it's also a little gross to feel like you're peeing yourself x 10 every few minutes, ok?
11:00am
Slight problem. The contractions really hurt now. I've done early labour with no drugs twice before and it was a piece of cake in comparison. Geekster and I are walking around the maternity ward and the contractions are coming strong and hard. I fall into him every time one hits (which is about every three minutes). My breathing turns to wimpering. I can't focus anymore. Surely I must be making some progress, right? I've already refused the epidural because I want things to happen quickly and like the ability to move around. It's getting a lot harder to keep to the original plan, though. Hopefully this will be fast.
2:00pm
I'm 3 1/2 cm and 60% effaced. I'm also starving and in a great deal of pain, but I'm not allowed to eat anything in case I need an emergency cesarean. Boo. I understand, but I don't have to like it. I'm having a very hard time dealing with the contractions and the relatively slow labour progression in this condition. Geekster slips me a bite of a chocolate bar with peanuts which helps, but only temporarily.
2:30pm
I can no longer walk and I'm sobbing in pain. I'm still 3 1/2cm but 80% effaced. I get the epidural so I can try and rest a bit.
4:00pm
My contractions are still regular, but now only 5 minutes apart. I'm 4 1/2cm and still need to breathe through them because the pain is over my right hip and right side of my back. I believe this is karma for flipping off the taxi driver the previous week. I should have just let him run me over and been nice and passive about it. I refuse to have the epidural turned up because I'm trying to be a hero.
Ok, not really. If I were a hero I'd still be crying through the contractions. I just don't want to slow down the contractions further, so the epidural stays put.
8:00pm
Still 4 1/2. Still 80% effaced. Exhausted. Hungry. Frustrated. I tell my doctor I think a c-section is in order.
I looked at it thisway: I'm going to get to 10cm eventually. I don't know when, but it will happen. The problem is that I won't have the energy to go through the pushing phase at this point. I really, really didn't want a cesarean, but it seems like the best thing right now. I cry as I make my decision. My doctor is very understanding and supportive of whatever way I want to do this. I love that I wasn't pressured in any way to make the choice, but it's still a really hard decision. I know how much cesarean recoveries suck, and I've worked so very hard to get this VBAC.
Geekster, of course, is amazing through all of this. Those of you who know him wouldn't expect any less, I'm sure. He's the hero in all of this, as far as I'm concerned. I couldn't ask for a better man in my life.
I ask for the epidural to be turned up a bit now. I can no longer feel the contractions, even though I'm still having them. I'm able to get a bit of rest before the surgery.
10:00pm
I'm wheeled downstairs into the OR. A feeling of peace overcomes me. I will be meeting my baby soon. I don't have to work at it anymore. It's ok to let go and enjoy his birth, now.
10:31pm
The most beautiful sound: my baby's cries, followed by a flood of my own tears. He's beautiful. The anesthesiologist grabs our camera and starts shooting over the curtain for us (we have some amazing pictures thanks to him).
I can't see my son on the warmer very well through my tears. I'm so grateful that he's here and that we're both doing well. I start to feel very warm and tingly.
Oh, wait. That would the the Demerol and Gravol they just gave me. The room is a little... spinny.
10:45pm
I say goodbye to Geekster and Spawnling as they head off to the neonatal ward while I get stitched up. The nurses and doctors are smiling at me and laughing to each other. It takes me a few minutes to realize that I'm laughing every time I look at them. Or bright lights. Or shiny metal instruments. Or the clock. I'm a very, very happy Maven.
11:15pm
I'm wheeled into recovery for an hour. I don't remember much of that time, except that I had a very polite nurse who let me ramble about a lot of things. I woudn't be surprised if I told her I had murdered a few nuns back in '78 or gave her my offshore bank account passwords.
I kept passing in and out of consciousness. Weeee, drugs!
12:15am, October 13th
I'm wheeled upstairs by an orderly and the nurse (who's eyeing me suspiciously at this point). I'm greeted by my baby daddy and my baby, who is absolutely gorgeous.
While nursing him and flying high, I make a couple of phone calls to The Madre at her house and The Sister at our house. I now know that I sounded hilarious, although I just thought I might appear 'tired'. Apparently tired people don't speak two octaves above their regular voice. That's reserved for those pumped full of narcotics. Good to know.
Spawnling spends the night in my arms, nursing contentedly. Life is beautiful.
Not quite as beautiful when the drugs wear off, mind you.
***
That's it. That's the whole story, really. I've been doing some inner exploration the last few days to find out how I feel about my decision to have a cesarean. I had regrets the last time, but they were unfounded. This time, I probably have more reason to feel regretful (because I probably would have progressed - albeit slowly - to full dilation and had the chance to push). I can't say I feel like I made a bad choice, though. Even though staples in the stomach SUCK and I'm still on Tylenol (regulars, now) to keep the pain at bay. But I'm doing ok, we're both healthy and he's here. I can't regret that.
Well, I should proofread and bolt. I have people coming over today to greet the sweet, little monster.