To be fair, I had very few preconceived thoughts on the process of expelling Chloe from my body. A part of me wanted to be a "crunchy" mom, who went to the hospital after I had labored at home on my own, woo saa'd through the pain, and reached down to pull my own baby out and in to the world. Another part of me was perfectly satisfied with modern medicine and planned to take full advantage of a pain free, stress free labor and delivery.
My doctor had plans to be out of state shortly after my due date and I didn't want to risk going past my due date and having to deliver with another doctor. I had spent the previous 10 months with MY doctor, who knew my concerns, my hesitations, and my expectations and who had been (what felt like) elbows deep in my situation. Delivering with another doctor was not an option for me, so we scheduled an induction for 39 weeks and 5 days.
My doctor had plans to be out of state shortly after my due date and I didn't want to risk going past my due date and having to deliver with another doctor. I had spent the previous 10 months with MY doctor, who knew my concerns, my hesitations, and my expectations and who had been (what felt like) elbows deep in my situation. Delivering with another doctor was not an option for me, so we scheduled an induction for 39 weeks and 5 days.
My entire pregnancy had been on track, I knew the exact dates of periods and conception, so baby being "done" was not an issue. I had some borderline issues with my blood sugar during my pregnancy, which tends to produce bigger babies. All circumstances considered, an induction was a legitimate and viable option for my delivery, so that's the route we chose.
Bill and I had made the decision that, since he was scheduled to work on the day/night of my induction, he would work through until his "sleep time" began at 11PM and then come to the hospital (he works for the ambulance service at the hospital I delivered at). Odds were stacked against baby arriving anytime before that and I figured it beneficial for him to stay at work while I got settled so that he wasn't available to poke, prod, and annoy me.
My induction was scheduled for 730PM on Wednesday September 28, 2011. I loaded entirely too many bags, pillows, and junk in to the car, grabbed a bite to eat at Arby's, and started for the hospital. My mom and dad took me and my truckload of unnecessaries to get registered and settled in. I filled out the paperwork, put on the wristband, and headed toward the women's center.
I stripped down to my socks, got all spiffed up in to a hospital gown, and signed some paperwork that said if I stopped breathing, please make me live. The plan was to put me on the monitor, see what my body and baby were up to, and make decisions accordingly. The monitor showed my contractions being regular and I vaguely remember my nurse referring to "active labor" and asking me if I was feeling anything. I wasn't and hadn't been. They held off on starting my IV, unhooked me from the monitor, and told me I could make some laps around the floor until Dr. J was able to make it to the hospital. I made two, maybe three, laps around the women's center, got bored, and headed back for the birthing suite.
I don't remember if my IV was started before or after Dr. J arrived, but I remember it was hellacious. I was dehydrated, so every time an IV was started, the vein would blow. I was poked at least twice, but possibly three times in each arm before my nurse(s) threw in the towel and called the "house mom" up from the ER to try. She hit it on the first attempt and cautiously started running fluids through. A vein finally held up, only shortly after I began to look like a crack addict with pokes and bruises up and down both arms.
Dr. J had been in training in Indianapolis all day and had made plans to meet with me at the hospital that evening to check my progress and place Cytotec, which would be used to ripen my cervix through the night for a (hopefully) successful induction once the Pitocin was started the next morning. The nurse was going to start the Cytotec upon my arrival to the hospital, but once it was determined I was pretty consistently laboring on my own, she decided to wait until Dr. J arrived.
Once Dr. J arrived, he checked my progress and I hadn't made much, if any, progress from my last doctors appointment. At this point, I hadn't had any precursors of labor: my mucus plug was still in place, water was still in tact, and hadn't had any bloody show. I was apparently having regular contractions that I wasn't aware of, but nothing strong enough to move my labor along. While digging around to check my progress, Dr. J did come out with a glove full of bloody show. Because of the Cytotec, lube couldn't be used when the doctors and nurses checked me. Only water. Ouch.
Bill eventually arrived and nothing spectacular was happening. My parents were still at the hospital and were sticking around as the nurse had mentioned checking me again in a couple hours to see if the Cytotec was assisting at all. My dad was intently watching the monitor and keeping me informed every time I had a contraction. I was thoroughly bored with laying in bed, unable to move much, because I always managed to get in trouble for losing the baby's heartbeat under the monitor.
My parents left the hospital shortly after I was checked and determined nothing was going to happen before the morning (midnight or 1AM maybe? I don't remember a lot as far as time specifics). They headed home to get a couple hours of sleep in order to be back first thing in the morning, and Bill made himself comfortable in the dad chair (Thanks, Mia). Bill dozed off to get a couple hours of sleep and I was left to be uncomfortable and cranky in the hospital bed.
The night was uneventful. I don't remember FEELING like I was laboring, but I was uncomfortable most of the night, mostly due to being unable to move much because of the fetal monitor. I tossed and turned and shuffled around the bed, but unless I was laying flat on my back, I couldn't keep the monitor where it needed to be, which in turn would stop monitoring baby's heartbeat, and that wasn't acceptable. I remember wanting to smother Bill occasionally because I JUST WANTED TO BE COMFORTABLE AND SLEEP, and he was snoring. Otherwise, nothing exciting.
Finally, sometime late late night, early morning, I shifted on my side and fell asleep. The nurses left me alone and let me sleep for a few hours, but at shift change, they asked me to roll back over on to my back so baby could be monitored again.
My parents came back to the hospital bright and early and were greeted with.. still.. nothing. I feel like I lose some time right around here, because I don't remember anything specific happening. I'm sure my dad was still watching the monitor and keeping me updated on my contractions. I'm sure my mom was empathizing with me and reminding my dad to leave me alone. And I'm sure Bill was still snoring. Or getting bored and looking for something to keep himself occupied. I was tired, cranky, and still laboring, so no one was doing anything right.
Dr. J arrived to check on me and make sure things were still smooth. The Cytotec had obviously not thrown me in to this awesomely active, progressive labor, so it was time to "pop" my water, start the Pitcoin, and get the show on the road. I still wasn't having any sort of pain I couldn't stand and things were still manageable.
And then Dr. J crochet-hooked my water. And then they started my Pitocin. And then it hurt. The contractions were coming harder and faster than anything I had had overnight. The nurse asked if I was ready or interested in an epidural and I declined. She reminded me that once I decided on an epidural, it could be 45 minutes before they could get the anesthesiologist to me and get the medicine started. I felt like this was the first of my "real" labor and I wanted to get through it a little before I gave in to pain medication. I breathed through a few contractions, that seemed to be happening on a pretty regular basis and weren't giving in any. However, I still wasn't absolutely convinced I even wanted an epidural.
My patience and tolerance for the pain and everyone in the room who even thought about breathing while I was having a contraction quickly went down hill. I believe it was sometime around 10AM when my dad, STILL watching the fetal monitor, said, "Here comes another contraction!" My head spun, I spit pea soup, and I told him HE DID NOT HAVE TO KEEP TELLING ME WHEN I WAS HAVING CONTRACTIONS BECAUSE I COULD FEEL THEM. We tracked down the nurse and decided it was time to start my epidural.
My anesthesiologist was a godsend. He was a tall, husky man, with a thick east coast drawl, who promised me when he was done, I would at least agree to name my child after him. He kept the mood light and made jokes, but when it came down to business, he was serious faced. Everyone had to leave the room, which only left the anesthesiologist, my nurse, and me. I had to sit up on the side of the bed, round my back out, bear hug a pillow, and sit still through the now continuous contractions. There was some relief from the contractions by leaning to the side, but I got in trouble for that. I found comfort in tilting my head back and breathing through the contractions, but was told if some of my hair fell on to my back and interfered with the process, I could end up with meningitis. Goodness. Sitting and scrunching everything together seemed to amplify the contractions. But finally, everything was in place and I was immediately laid back down. I remember the anesthesiologist giving me a very specific time frame (7 1/2 minutes? 9 minutes?) and I should feel relief. But I didn't.
He stuck around until things were completely numb, which took a little longer than expected. Once the epidural kicked in and my dad stopped reminding me of my contractions because I couldn't feel them and didn't care, I slept. Hard. I remember falling asleep and hearing people in and out of the room. Bill talked to my parents about me finally getting some sleep, and I was able to hear the conversation, but I didn't have the energy to open my eyes or interact with anyone. I still didn't feel like my body had been doing TOO much work while laboring, but apparently it was exhausted and needed rest for what was about to come.
At one point after my epidural, I remember ripping the biggest, loudest fart I ever thought I was capable of in my entire life. Bill and I have been together 3 1/2 years and I still keep my gaseous emissions sparse around him, as it's not lady proper. I pretty much rocked the entire room and then apologized to everyone. The nurse reassured me I wouldn't have been able to control it, even if I'd tried, because everything was numb. (After reading some of the birth story to Bill, he asked if I included the part where I farted. So, this is for him.)
I slept for a good hour before it was time to see how I was progressing. My nurse checked me again and seemed a little confused. She called in another nurse to do the same and I remember her saying, "I just wanted to make sure she was fully dilated, because she went from 6 to 10 in an hour." Is that a quick amount of time to fully dilate? I don't know. But the nurses were all.. YEA YOU'RE DILATED TO 10 AND IT'S TIME TO PUSH AND WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY! And I was all.. Ok, just kidding. I'm not ready and I don't want to do this anymore.
Since I had just been checked and my goodies were covered again, I told Bill he could text my family and let them know I was decent and they could come back. Nurses flooded in to the room and started getting things ready. Everything sterile was brought out and draped in blue. My nurse was setting up all the necessities that Dr. J may eventually need and Chloe's nurse was getting all of her fun stuff together. I remember the baby nurse mentioning that she had told my family to stay put in the waiting room, because apparently we were a little closer to show time than I thought.
My nurse asked if I had a problem with a nursing student standing in on the delivery and I agreed. I wish I had gotten her name or any kind of identifying information about her, because she was completely in tune with me and what I needed and not engulfed in the commotion in the room. The baby's nurse was getting everything prepared and in order for Chloe's arrival, my nurse was running around getting everything set up for the delivery and in just the right order for Dr. J, and Dr. J was suiting up and preparing himself to catch the baby that was about to fly out of my body. The nursing student kept up with my needs, made sure I had anything I needed, and thanked me over and over for letting her be a part of our experience.
My nurse came in and wanted to go through some "practice" pushes with me. She sat on the end of the bed, watched for a contraction, and cued my pushing. Then the room started to buzz with activity. Dr. J had been in the room for the practice push and had commented that he'd be out charting until things were ready to go. However, a glance must have been exchanged that I missed, because he never left the room and instead started suiting up to get the show on the road.
I was thrown in to stirrups, all of my everything was put on display under some ridiculously bright, hot light, and it was time to have a baby. My practice pushes transitioned to "it's time to have a baby" pushes at 1145AM.
Shortly after I was completely exposed and ready to go, I started to feel nauseated. I tried to push the thought to the back of my mind and concentrate on getting this monster out of me, but it wasn't working. I started to get the all-too-familiar saliva pooling in my mouth, stiffening dry heaves feeling. I was going to be sick. I openly asked anyone who was listening or caring if it was normal to feel sick and I was reassured it was as a bedpan was shoved under my chin. By this point, it had been almost 17 hours since I had eaten anything. I was exhausted and weak. In my mind, I remember getting sick. A normal, non dramatic sick. Bill insists I would do these HUUUUUGE dry heaves/gags and then barely spit enough to dribble off my chin. However, I could feel my stomach muscle contracting every time I'd start to get sick, which I believe is partially responsible for how quickly Chloe slid out.
The nauseating, sick blah finally subsided and it was crunch time. I don't remember much from the actual process of pushing and delivering. I remember being SO exhausted that I was fighting to stay awake between contractions. I remember wanting to take a shower SO BAD. And I remember begging Bill for a donut from Village Pantry as soon as this was over.
With every contraction, I was bearing down and pushing for all I was worth. I wasn't sure I was even pushing the "right" way because everything was completely numb. I didn't feel pain, I didn't feel pressure, and I didn't feel progress. I was pushing hard enough that I felt like I was turning purple and making some grunting noise with each push. At some point, I realized Bill was echoing everything the staff was saying. If the nurse told me I was doing great, Bill told me I was doing great. If the doctor told me to give him half a push, Bill told me to give half a push. I remember thinking this needed to stop and he wasn't allowed to talk anymore. However, I couldn't form words while I was pushing and between contractions, I was trying my hardest to take a nap.
I put every last ounce of what I had left in to 3 or 4 sets of pushes and heard Dr. J tell me to stop pushing, while he unwrapped the cord twice from Chloe's neck. Another half of a push and Chloe slid in to the world, facing Bill instead of the floor, and in to our hearts at 1230PM at a miniature (compared to what we were expecting because of the blood sugar issues) 6lb 13oz, 20 1/4" long. Chloe was swooped off in to the bedside warmer and Bill followed behind. I was stitched up, unstirruped, and handed my beautiful baby girl in a moment I'd been waiting on for nine months.
