Birth Story, Part III

First post, second post. This post is inspired by Missed Conceptions. Damn you, woman! If you didn't feel so crappy I would send you a strongly worded missive. Note: some of this story comes from TB, as my brain forgot to store chunks of time. Any mistakes are all his fault, as always.

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Let me start by saying this: "HA HA HA HA." Because that is what the world said to me after I called everyone and told them that I would update them on my labor in the morning after a night of sleep. When I say everyone I am including my doula. You know, the person that holds my hand, rubs my whatever, and gets me through this labor without the fibro + pain kicking my ass? TB is exhausted and looking forward to some sleep as he has been awake since 3:30am. I close my eyes and drift off.....sleeeeeeep.

CONTRACTION!!! Okay! I'm awake! OUCH! Sleeeeeeep. (repeat cycle every 3-4 minutes)

Fuck. So the pain meds and sleep meds aren't helping with the pain or sleep, unless a minute of sleep followed by pain is considered effective. I make it through three hours and get pain meds again at 1am. My cervix is still being a stubborn fucking bitch and remains at 2cm. (TB takes over the story here because my memory is fuzzy due to the ambien + pain combo. Note to self: avoid ambien.) He tells me that during this time I am peeing every fifteen minutes and drinking a lot of water to avoid an IV. At 3am my blood pressure and Egg's heart rate drop with every contraction. I am holding my breath through the pain (damn I KNEW I would pull that shit!) and they put me on oxygen. In retrospect, I'm not sure how giving someone oxygen that is holding their breath works, but whatever. I'm beyond caring at this point. I'm in so much pain and according to The Rules of Labor I'm not even in labor yet, right? My cervix hasn't changed and I've been in the hospital for 12 hours. LAME. I am going to write a letter to my cervix about her work ethic and shit.

Just as I start to write my cervix a letter, a nurse checks me and I have gone from 2cm to 6cm in fifteen minutes. Good job, cervix! Way to dilate! The powers that be decide that the pain killers are to blame for the heart rate/blood pressure issues and I am to get an IV with pain meds. At this point I would let an elephant stick it in my pooper if it would help the pain. Luckily for my ass, there are no elephants around. It takes two tries to put in the IV, and I end up with an awesome bruise on my arm from the first attempt. This is another place that TB fills in the gaps, because the next day I look at my forearm and ask WHAT THE FUCK happened to me? The IV goes in my hand and they administer pain meds through it that have no effect on my pain. YAY ME.

They order an epidural, but it will take an hour to get it. TB gives the okay because I am not speaking at this point. TB is at the verge of throwing up at the sight of me in so much pain. I am not responding verbally to anyone and they are concerned. With each contraction I am holding onto the rails of the bed like they are keeping me afloat. The nurse coaxes me into different positions to keep Egg's heart rate from plunging. When I get onto my hands and knees I get the incredible urge to PUSH. I remember debating with myself, because I was afraid I would push something else out and being on my hands and knees....you get the picture.

Then I thought, "fuck them. they're not helping me" and I PUSHED AND PUSHED AND PUSHED. It felt awesome. This was the first time I have felt the urge to push in labor. I highly recommend it, this pushing and feeling the baby moooove. Of course, no one knew what I was doing at the time because I still wasn't speaking.

At about 5am I got the epidural, which took another two pokes because the doctor hit a "puffy" blood vessel the first time. At 5:15am they checked me HOLY CRAP Egg's noggin was RIGHT THERE. The epidural hadn't kicked in yet and I was ready to deliver Egg right NOW and my doctor was at home, snoozing away. Luckily he lives near the hospital. At 5:30am I was able to speak again, which was a relief to everyone. I hadn't been worried because I was thinking mah own thoughts the whole time.

At 5:45am my doctor arrives and tells me to push. I start to tear and my doctor wants to give me an episiotomy and I DO NOT want another fucked up pussy experience like I did the first delivery. As I'm fussing about not having one he starts cutting. I'm in my own world by then, having the most amazing experience of feeling Egg's head and body move down the birth canal and out of me. It is hard to describe, but imagine the difference between pushing a ball out and pushing something with SHOULDERS out of you. It was the first time I have felt this sensation and it was amazing. Although I felt it, I didn't feel any pain at this point.

As Egg's head crowns my bag breaks just in front of him, with only a bit of amniotic fluid. The position that he delivers in created a wedge at my cervix and the rest of the fluid comes out after him. He is delivered at 6:03am, three hours after my labor starts changing my cervix.

To Be Continued...

Birth Story Part II

The first part of the Birth Story Series is here. Thanks to Essie for reminding me that I had this post to finish up tonight!

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I drove to my doctor’s office, two hours early for my normal 3pm appointment. Of course, my doctor was at his other office and only a front office lady that I didn’t particularly like was there to help me. She gave me the options of waiting for my appointment or head to the hospital which was about a block away. I told her that I was bleeding somewhat heavily and didn’t think a bloody show was supposed to be a bloody fucking period. She shrugged. I almost muttered “useless fucking bitch” under my breath at that point. I looked at Chicken, felt another contraction hit and said, (in my mind) “fuck this shit” and went to the hospital.

On the way to the hospital I called my doula. She was still having childcare difficulties and I wasn’t worried about it yet. My objective was to get reassurance that everything! Was! Okay! and have a damn baby at some point. Preferably with my husband in the room, because he was 100 miles away and afternoon traffic from his jobsite to the hospital was going to be a bitch.

When I got into the hospital, I expected to head right back to labor and delivery. Oh hai! I’m stupid people making you wait in the waiting room with SICK PEOPLE AND CHILDREN. I glared at everyone and tried not to breathe in their January germs. Fucking heathens and all going to the ER for a cough in the middle of the fucking day. Go to the doctors you assholes! Apparently contractions do not leave any room for sympathy. After waiting three hours (or fifteen minutes) I got to discuss paperwork with some lady that wanted to call a clergy person for me. Uh? What? Do preacher-type people usually come hang out in birthing rooms? I declined and signed fourteen pieces of paper which contained ?? I have no fucking clue. Then they wheeled me to Labor and Delivery. It was about fucking time, yo.

They gave me a gown and checked me, my vitals, etc. I was still two! fucking! centimeters! They wanted to monitor me for an hour, and I was totally down with that plan. Except they put down a towel for me to place my lady bits on to keep the blood from getting all over the place. Since I was getting up to pee every ten minutes, what was I supposed to do with myself? Hold something over my crotch as I hobbled to the can? So I put on my handy underwear and a pad, like a normal fucking person. Although they didn’t say anything to me, I felt the unhappy vibes the nurses were giving me. Over fucking underwear. Fuck you stupid whores. I don’t like dripping blood on the floor. It’s gross and my 12 year old is sitting right there next to me.

Speaking of Chicken, we had not made a firm decision about where he would be during the labor/birthing experience. We made a backup plan in case he wanted to leave, and if he wanted to stay it would be fine. If I decided I was uncomfortable with him there, he would leave. Well, he wanted to get the fuck out of there, so my step-MIL came from work to pick him up. My FIL was already here by then, chatting with me to keep me company until TB arrived. Note to self: next time have some sort of plan for getting FIL out of the room during labor.

All I wanted to do was to get down to laboring, but dealing with relatives, a missing doula, a doctor that was running late, a husband that wanted to play on his PSP (at least he made it to the hospital!), and nurses that were convinced that I wasn't actually in labor kind of fucked with my mojo. I couldn't concentrate enough to make changes to the stuff that was bugging me because I kept having painful contractions. Finally my doctor made an entrance.

I talked with my doctor and figured out my options:

A) I could get some meds to make me comfortable, go home and get a good night of sleep and come back tomorrow if I was in labor
B) I could get hooked up to a bunch of shit, get a mild amount of pitocin, get meds to make me comfortable, get a good night's sleep
C) Take oral pain/sleep meds, take liquids by mouth, let my body do what it wanted, get a good night's sleep

"A" freaked me out because I knew I was in labor, I was bleeding more than I thought I should, and the hospital was 35 minutes away from my house in excellent traffic conditions.  I had followed option "B" in my first labor and it sucked. I wanted a natural-ish birth and I wanted to see what my body would do all on it's own. I wanted to be able to get up and walk around, shower, pace, shower, etc at will and not hooked up to an IV. My doctor was on board though he thought that I would end up with pitocin in the morning and pushing out a baby by mid to late afternoon. Whatever. I wanted to take it one step at a time. MY next step was to eat dinner with TB and continue contracting- with no change in my cervix. Stupid cervix. At 10pm I was given oral pain meds and ambien. I posted the most awesome post EVAR and prepared to sleep as much as possible...

Waking Up

On January 19, 2009 I woke up at eleven in the morning, 39 weeks and one day pregnant and I knew that I was in labor. There was no neon sign plastered on the wall blinking, "It's Time!" but I still knew. My contractions, a constant companion for weeks, were regular and four minutes apart. I took a shower and counted three contractions while enjoying the hot water. It was time to figure out how to proceed with this birthing thing.

Chicken was at my in-laws house, I had planned to pick him up, take him to his friend's house, and then go to my OB appointment at three o' clock. I was thinking that I could hang out at Target for a while before my appointment if I had extra time. I knew that I should finish packing my bag and bring it with me, but I was afraid of jinxing the whole affair. I was able to convince myself that bringing some things to do while I waited in the doctor's office was a middle ground that wouldn't guarantee me another week of pregnancy. I brought Thank You cards and a few other things to occupy my time and headed to pick up my boy.

The contractions got stronger as I drove to get Chicken, and I decided to go inside and pee while I was there. I sat down, went pee a bit and felt something go PLOP out of me and into the water. For a second I thought of those women that somehow don't know they are pregnant and sit on the toilet and give birth. I looked down and saw my mucus plug and a bunch of blood. My third full term pregnancy and the first time I had seen this fabled thing. I called out to my sister-in-law and asked her for a pad. She brought one and I attempted to use it. It was the size of a queen bed and as thick as a sturdy piece of paper. No can do. I am a pad snob and this shit wasn't happening. I had Chicken run out to the car and grab me a pad.

You might be wondering why I had a pad in the car. You see, I've read a blog or twelve hundred where the pregnant/newly postpartum woman declares, "I didn't have a single pad in the house" to contain her bleeding, water breaking, peeing her pants, etc. So I was prepared, damn it. Pad properly stowed inside my panties, Chicken and I headed to the car when another contraction hit me. I looked down, way down to where the driveway met the road. Fuck.

TB's father and step-mother live on the top of a small hill. Their driveway is just wide enough to meet the requirements of emergency response vehicles. It is steep and curvy. I was having contractions every three minutes. I got in the car, waited for another contraction and drove as soon as it ended. The contractions weren't bad, but I wasn't taking any chances. Halfway to Chicken's friends house I saw a sign for the freeway. Get on the freeway to head to my doctor (and the hospital) or continue to the friend's house? I worried that Chicken would be stuck with his friend for an extended period of time, and I was all about keeping my anxiety to a minimum. I hopped on the freeway and hoped the traffic into Fallbrook wouldn't suck.