Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A Baby Story, only unlike the TLC version, mine contains words like "pee"
November 10, 2010
4:30 a.m. Up for the day. Is that pee? Peeing myself would be the newest in indignities this pregnancy has brought, but nothing would surprise me. My feet look like Shrek's and my calves are at least twice their normal size. So, probably pee.
7:30 a.m. Getting girls ready for BSF and school. Feel a little gush. Am I peeing myself? Or could that be my water breaking?
8:10 a.m. Send girls off, Frankie to school, Molly to BSF. I resolve to stay home and solve the conundrum: pee or not pee.
11 a.m. The "pee" seems a little pink. Pee should be yellow. Maybe this isn't pee. Call Dean and tell him maybe he should come home. Just in case. No contractions, though.
1 p.m. At previously scheduled OB appointment. A few contractions in the car, as usual, but these seem to start a little lower.
1:30 p.m. Relaxing on the table waiting for Dr. Buck to come in. Yeah, that's definitely not pee. Dr. Buck checks me. I am 4 cm and 90% effaced.
2 p.m. In the car on the way to Labor and Delivery, contractions start. They are low and hard, but no closer than three minutes. We debate whether to drive to get a burger but I chicken out since I worry the L & D people will be calling Dr. Buck wondering where I am and I'll have to cop to scarfing a Whopper Junior and some fries. Call my mom and ask her to cancel her dental appointment- just in case. Oh, and bring a Whopper Junior when you come.
2:30 p.m. The OB clerk doesn't look up, just mutters "name." I sit and periodically clutch the arms of the chair while she chats a foot in front of me making calls and asking "Where does the girl who ruptured go?." That's me. Dean and I listen to the alarm that means a baby is missing off the unit blare for ten minutes before a second OB clerk notices it and turns it off without a glance. I'm starting to wish I had opted for a hospital in Grand Rapids. The first clerk is busy trying to find me a room without having glanced at me. I shoot daggers at her with my eyes every time a contraction comes.
2:45 p.m. In a room, changed into a gown. Contractions hurt. A lot. Wow, they really hurt. Dr. Buck comes in to tell the nurse that I'm 4 cm dilated. I bring to everyone's attention the fact that Molly's delivery was pretty fast and the epidural didn't really take and I wonder if maybe we could talk about calling the anesthesiologist sooner rather than later.
3 p.m. Can't talk about an epidural until an IV is started.
3:10 p.m. Third try is the charm. IV is flowing.
3:25 p.m. Can't talk about an epidural until the admission paperwork is done. Dean is occupied answering questions about whether we have well water while I grip the sides of the bed and cry between contractions. My mom tells me it's "good pain." I'm not in the mood to differentiate.
3:30 p.m. Can't have an epidural until labs are drawn.
3:45 p.m. Nurse can't figure out how to order labs.
3:50 p.m. Dean, at my behest, asks for the anesthesiologist to be paged without the labs being done since I'm declaring the pain intolerable and weeping into my mother's shoulder. If this is 4 cm, I am certain I will die by 10 cm.
3:55 p.m. Anesthesiologist comes. He tells me without labs being drawn I'm at risk for bleeding if my platelet count is low. I assure him I don't care if I am permanently paralyzed from the waist down. Seriously, this is 4 cm? Maybe women should get a gold medal if they do this without an epidural.
3:59 p.m. Anesthesiologist tells me it will take 15 minutes for the epidural to work. He slides the tube in my back as I have a contraction that feels like it's tearing my hips off. At the same moment, I feel a sliding sensation and I tell the nurse, who has finally given up on trying to order the labs, that I have to push. NOW.
4:04 p.m. There is a flurry of activity as the nurse lays me on my back and sees the baby's head. Dr. Buck, a resident, a medical student and two nurses join us. Guttural, primal moans are ripping from me. Screams, too. I apologize after each one, only to be gripped again by an unstoppable urge to push and yell.
4:11 p.m. One last scream and Susannah Glory bursts forth.
4:15 p.m. After the placenta is delivered and I am stitched, I start to feel my legs go numb.