Wow.
Sheep's birth was quite the experience. I'm still pleasantly surprised by how everything turned out.
It started 7 a.m., one day before the estimated due date. My water broke and I immediately called R at work. I then called the hospital and described my situation to the intake nurse, including that I was GBS positive. She calmly told me to come in order to start an IV of antibiotics. After hanging up I relaxed, knowing I had a while before R got home with a vehicle from the car co-op (we don't own a car). The contractions hadn't started yet, so I leisurely showered and ate a tiny breakfast.
When R arrived, he was excited and kissed me. "Today's the day!" he whispered. I resumed feeling nervous again, realizing I was going to have to try to push a baby out of me.
The drive into the city was a long one. Traffic was bumper to bumper, as people were struggling to get to work. Suddenly, in the midst of a three-lane crawl of cars, ours sputtered and died. "The car ran out of gas," said R in disbelief. He coasted over to the far right lane and tried to re-start it. Drivers were starting to honk behind us.
I glared at him. "How much gas was in the car?" I asked.
"A quarter tank," he answered. With traffic, it normally took almost an hour to drive to the hospital. On this day, R had also driven the car from work all the way to our condo to pick me up.
"That's not enough gas!" I yelled, and flung open the car door. I leapt out in anger, held my very pregnant belly and wildly waved my arms, signalling to people to switch lanes. Drivers stopped honking upon seeing my huge stomach and merged over. Within a few minutes, a good samaritan pulled over in front of us and said he had towing supplies, and could pull us into the nearest side street a half-block down the road. We gratefully accepted. While being towed, I had my first contraction, tears streaming down my face.
"Does it hurt?" asked R.
"No!" I cried. "It's just not going the way I want!" R stroked my face and apologized. Once we were parked, R leapt into the guy's truck so that he could be driven to another co-op car. I stood beside the dead car, laboring. He returned promptly and again we continued to the hospital, my contractions becoming stronger. Once we parked, R supported me as I stumbled through the doors and greeted the attending nurse with grunts of pain. They promptly brought us to an assessment room and checked me, while R left to move the co-op car to the street and end the rental.
"You're 4 centimeters," the nurse announced. "Let's start the antibiotic IV."
R returned to the room and said, "I got a f***ing parking ticket!" Apparently the hospital's enforcement officer didn't realize the hybrid car was still running in the lot while we were checking in. R called them and explained the situation, and the company promptly rescinded the ticket.
After what felt like an eternity laboring in the room (which in reality was probably for a very short time, but I wasn't looking at the clock at all), a nurse came to bring me to the delivery ward. On the way upstairs, I had to stop in the hallway and breathe through a contraction. I proceeded to crouch down and brace against the wall, using my yoga breathing and moaning, while hearing the soft padding footsteps of staff passing behind me. My nurse was very calm and reassured me through the contraction.
Stepping into the birthing room was like stepping into a palace: skylight, birthing tub and shower, en suite bathroom, delivery bed, and guest bed. It was clean and looked brand new. I changed into a hospital gown, but promptly stripped it off a few minutes later when I realized the feel of cloth on my skin bothered me. The contractions were coming much more frequently. The nurse was very hands-off, which I liked, and she recorded notes during each contraction. Using what I learned in prenatal class, I concentrated on my breath and moved into different laboring positions to help Sheep descend lower. Four breaths in, eight breaths out. The nurse drew a bath for me to labor in. The contractions came faster and more powerfully. I tried to moan my exhalations but eventually the sound would escalate into a scream. I was convinced that other people on the same floor thought a murder was taking place in my room. R later told me that I was dropping F bombs left, right and center, which I honestly don't remember doing. The nurse checked my dilation again, and told me I was now 8 centimetres. So within no more than 2 hours, I had dilated 4 centimetres and was now in the transition phase, which the nurse knew by the amount of screaming and swearing I was doing.
At one point, the pain was too much. I had been using laughing gas but I threw the mouthpiece down, frustrated by the lack of effectiveness. "I need something!" I begged.
The nurse offered to call the anesthesiologist for a walking epidural, and I hesitatingly agreed. In prenatal class it was suggested that epidurals were not a good idea, but the pain was unbelievably intense and I needed it. The hospital offered walking epidurals, which were of much lower dosage than full epidurals. My nurse also offered fentanyl while we waited for the anesthesiologist to arrive, which I accepted.
Time passed. "Where's the anesthesiologist?" I cried in pain.
"He's coming. He's on his way." was all the nurse could answer.
Once the anesthesiologist arrived, she explained she was a resident and I had enough of a clear head to ask if the more experienced one could administer the epidural. I'd thought long and hard about my labour plan while pregnant, and I was afraid of the small risk of becoming paralyzed. The other anesthesiologist arrived, and stated he trusted the resident to do it. However he offered, "Would you feel better if I supervised while she puts it in?" I answered yes. She proceeded to quickly inject it, pausing when I indicated I was going to have a contraction. Very soon, the walking epidural took effect and I settled back into the bed, becoming more clear-headed and relaxed after the agonizing drug-free contractions.
The walking epidural worked well. I was mostly pain-free, and still had the use and control of my legs. I was able to feel when a contraction was coming on, and I was even able to walk slowly to the bathroom.
I dreamily looked at the nurse. "This drug is amazing. Why don't more people use this?" She laughed.
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| (L) Before the epidural; (R) After the blessed epidural |
Then the nurse indicated I was fully dilated, and it was time to end the massage and to push. It was difficult to do so, as the epidural blocked some sensation. I used various pushing positions, but very little progress was happening. The doctors came in once in a while, but ultimately the labor belonged to me, R, and any nurses that came in to help.
After pushing for a while, the doctors returned and said, "The baby's heartbeat is becoming dangerously elevated with each contraction. You haven't been able to make as much progress as we'd like, so we want to try an intervention."
I thought they were going to say C-section, which I had no problem with. Instead, they said, "Forceps." I started bawling.
"What's wrong?" the doctors asked. "It won't hurt the baby."
"It's about it hurting ME!" I cried.
R then said, "Can you give us two minutes please?" Once everyone had left, he talked to me reassuringly and said I was so close.
"I can even see a bit of the baby's hair, you just have to push really hard, okay?" R didn't want me to have a caesarean, because he knew my recovery would be difficult and take longer. He promised to make sure they upped the epidural dosage so that I wouldn't feel too much pain in the event of a forceps delivery.
The staff returned, and as they were getting the forceps ready, one of the nurses looked me in the eye and said, "You're going to have to push like you've never pushed before."
So I did. I bore down and pushed hard. One of the doctors noticed my progress and said, "Wow, someone really doesn't want us to use forceps!" I kept going, pushing hard with each contraction.
I could feel progress happening. At one point, it almost felt like Sheep's head was going to come out, when suddenly my contraction stopped. "The contraction ended!" I yelled in frustration.
"Then don't push!" the doctor replied. What the hell!, I thought, There's a freaking head stuck midway in my vijayjay.
The next contraction came quickly. "PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH" was all I could hear the staff say. And I did. And Sheep was born.
I don't remember much about that exact moment. I remember looking down and seeing his purple, slimy body being laid upon my skin. I remember waiting for what seemed like forever, but in reality was probably only a couple of seconds, before our son finally cried and I could breathe a sigh of relief. I remember his cry was so loud and shrill, but he immediately calmed down upon hearing his mom and dad's voices. His eyes were so large. R says I cried when he was born but I don't remember. I vaguely remember telling R I loved him. Even now I feel tears well up when I recall those moments.
At times I stop and can't believe I managed to push out an entire baby. I never asked about Sheep's weight during the last month of pregnancy, because I was afraid he would be large. He ended up weighing about 7 lbs and 13 oz., but it didn't feel like it because of the epidural. I was also stitched up from a second degree tear, but even that didn't give me too much pain. R claims I turned to him after the birth and said, "It's true, you forget the pain quickly. I could do that again!" (I can't believe I said that, and chalk it up to the drugs.)
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| Sheep has a repertoire of expressions. |
Of course, the next phase of work starts upon arriving home. In my post coming up, I'll write about what it's like having a newborn in our lives.
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