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Disclaimer -- this is long. And ugly. Bonus points to any of you who love me enough to read the whole thing ayway. Don't read it if you can't handle: bodily fluids, emotional breakdowns, or knowing that I sometimes get mad at my normally-awesome husband and cuss like a sailor. Consider yourself warned. :)]
Oh, July 25th, how I dislike you. You own some of the hardest hours in my adult life. Things between us have been complicated for three years now. But I think it's important to remember you anyway, so I'm outing you as my Dark Day.
I have pieced together a timeline, based mostly on several post-Nathan-delivery emails between mom and me, and the notes/papers I had written and tucked inside his baby book. I decided it was time to mesh them together and tell...
Nathan's Birth Story
4am-ish, July 25, 2007 -- A contraction. I know
immediately it's a "real" contraction, despite my body never having done this before.
Someone told me when it's happening, I'll just know. And I do.
5:30am to 4pm -- I send Mark to work, then kill time all day by running errands (the library, McDonalds -- for the baby!), walking the dogs, watching tv, and timing contractions. For the most part they stay between 10 and 15 minutes apart. My pre-labor doesn't really hurt.
4pm -- Mark comes home from work. We bicker about his time off, which --
three days after Nathan's due date -- still has not been finalized. (Note to Erin of 2010: let it go already.)
4:30pm -- Pee with black flecks in it. Ummm... what? Uh-oh. Is that amniotic fluid? Is that normal?
4:52pm -- Scrambling to get to the OB's office in time for the last appointment slot of the day. Why does Mark drive like a grandpa? Seriously. Contractions about 10 minutes apart, but don't hurt. Mark's slow-ass driving is making them worse though. No.
Seriously.
5:20pm -- OB says I'm not dilating at all yet.
But. He also tells me my water broke. (I'm carrying Nathan so low that he's blocking any gush, so the fluid is just trickling out slowly.) Awesome. Do I know when it happened? Umm... no? Maybe right before I came in? Maybe at 3am when I thought I peed an awful lot? Maybe when I was scarfing down that big mac at lunch? Maybe a few days ago, the
first time I thought it broke? The doctor calls to pre-admit me to the hospital, but tells me to take my time getting there.
6:15pm -- At home, taking a shower. Why? I don't know... so my hair won't look greasy in pictures?
That was back when I was young and naive and still holding onto a modicum of modesty and dignity. Before I knew what the next few hours would bring.
6:45pm -- Post-shower, I find Mark hanging up the phone with a guilty look on his face.
Who did you call???? It's ok, just Jeff. And Justin. And Nick. And they promised they won't bother us for updates. {sigh} Contractions still 10 minutes apart, getting just painful enough for me to be really annoyed with Mark for calling his friends when we had agreed not to tell people when I was in labor. Despite my annoyance, his excitement is sort of endearing.
6:50pm -- Word on the street is, once I'm at the hospital they won't be giving me any food till Nathan is
here, and who knows how long
that will be? (Turns out: not that long.) Mark drives through and gets me a whopper. Which I chase down with a ginormous cup of grape kool-aid. Fast food twice in one day. In labor. Pretty sure I'm the model for healthy gestational eating.
7:15pm -- We get to the hospital. We park in the parking deck and mosey on inside. I feel certain I'm the only mom in labor walking in calmly from the parking deck.
I feel like a farce. A sham of a laboring mom. Hi, what's up, how's it going, I'm here to have my baby. No, I do not want to ride in that wheelchair, do I look sick or broken? I'm fine. Too fine to be having this baby, actually. Are we sure this is really happening? This is kind of surreal. And not how I pictured it.
7:30pm -- I'm settled in the L&D unit. We meet our nurse, who will be assigned to us all night. She is a stern matronly woman, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that she's not an overly enthusiastic faux-sweet bubbly cheerleader type. I don't think I could handle that. (Later it turns out I have been
a little a lot too optimistic about a good personality match.)
7:45pm -- Contractions about 8 minutes apart. I look warily at the hospital gown and procrastinate changing into it. I can have my baby in these awesome terry maternity sweatpants, right? No? No pants at all? Dang it. Pantsless it is. Let's do this.
8:00pm -- The delivering OB (Dr. Saaks) comes in to check my cervix. Still just barely open. She and the nurse kind of heave Nathan up a bit in my belly to get the fluid to gush out, hoping that will put more pressure on my cervix to get it to start dilating. We indeed get the fluid rush. It's gross. A
bright green kind of gross.
Yes, my firstborn (still unborn) child has officially pooped inside me.
8:15pm -- For reasons I'm not clear on, because I don't think anyone actually told me (Mark says that he later understood it to be a combination of them not knowing exactly when my water broke, and Nathan's in-utero bowel movement), I am started on a pitocin iv to make the contractions stronger and get my cervix moving. (You're not technically in labor until your cervix is dilating.) I don't like the idea of pitocin, but I rationalize that my water is broken and I've been in pre-labor all day, so he really
is coming. We're not forcing him out before he's ready.
8:45pm -- I am in active labor. Contractions are consistent at 3 minutes apart. There's no nurse to officially verify that my cervix has indeed started opening, but
I know. I tell Mark as much and I'm met with a distant
mm-hmm. I begin to feel annoyed with my Baby Daddy.
9:00pm -- I roll over to get in a more comfortable position (ha!), and the fetal monitor attached to my belly (I guess because of the pitocin? Or the bowel movement? Or just because it's one of those annoying "standard procedure" things?) temporarily loses track of Nathan's heartbeat. Machines beep.
9:01pm -- Nurse comes, admonishes me for moving the monitor (really?
really??) and upon request, checks my cervix (almost 2cm). I ask about the epidural for the first time. It's going to take about an hour to get here, right? If this is how my contractions feel now, I need meds within an hour or two at the most. Nurse encourages me to just sit tight, I'm not ready for it yet. How does
she know?
Even if I am totally wrong (I wasn't), is it really her job to determine when my pain is "legitimate" enough for meds? My pain is
my pain; sorry if you think I'm being wimpy (I wasn't) but
you don't get to be the judge of that.
9:20pm -- The panic sets in. It really hurts.
Really, really hurts. Because of the pitocin iv, and the monitors attached to my belly, I feel stuck in bed. I want to stand, but I'm not supposed to. I make up an excuse about having to pee, just so I can get out of the bed and redistribute my weight off my lower back. It seems to inconvenience the nurse for me to do this with all the iv's and wires.
9:30pm -- Contractions a little over 2 minutes apart. I am barely keeping my cool. It hurts so bad. I worry that I am about to lose control, but then I just go ahead and give myself permission. GAAAAAAHHHHHH. The nurse asks, "didn't you learn breathing and relaxation techniques in your birthing class?" And then goes back to filling out paperwork.
Why are you even in here, woman??
9:32pm -- Mark reminds me of what the nurse said -- that I'm "not far enough along" to need the epidural yet (yes I am). My Baby Daddy feelings of annoyance turn to those of
utter betrayal. His whole purpose in this endeavor is just to support me -- that's it, just get me through this labor -- and he's backing the nurse up,
against me, even though he doesn't have the first clue what is going on?? Even if I'm wrong (I'm not), why is it so hard to just support me and be on my side when I am in
the worst pain known to womankind?
9:33pm -- I mourn the loss of my labor "partner" and take matters into my own hands. I
insist that I need my cervix checked and the epidural ordered. I have now become That Patient. Someone calls for our OB.
9:40pm -- Dr. Saaks finally checks my cervix. I'm at 6cm. (I would feel vindicated, but I have no thoughts besides the pain searing through my body.)
I have gone from 0 to 6cm in just over an hour on pitocin, just under an hour of asking for the epidural. I'm very sure at this point I'm calling it the
f-ing epidural.
9:55pm -- Epidural is ordered {
choir of angels singing}. Pre-epi fluids and the first round of antibiotic drip are hooked up. I am now even more strapped to the bed than before. Super.
9:56pm -- Mark is intently glued to Last Comic Standing. Jon Reep is making dolphin noises backwards across the stage (oh, the things we remember). All the noises are too loud and too dim at the same time. Chaos. I can't clearly make out anything I hear, but at the same time I want to shut it all up. All I can think about is my body. Which hates me.
I do the only logical thing and yell at Mark. Seriously, is that show more interesting than your unborn child who is trying to murder your wife from the inside?? He mutes the tv and comes to sit with me. I get slightly more optimistic about his labor support.
10:15pm -- Contractions less than 2 minutes apart, lasting about 90 seconds each, and
hard. By my count, the epidural will be here in 15 more contractions, at the earliest. I can't do 15 more. I can't do 15 more. I can't do 15 more. Panicking.
10:20pm --
This is going too fast. I want to slow it down. I can do the contractions better if I can just rest. I ask to turn the pitocin down. Or off. Why do I need it? Clearly I'm progressing just fine. Mark tells me we can't ask for that. (Um, how do
you know?) I ask anyway. I don't remember if they declined my request with (or without) an explanation, or just ignored it, but the drip didn't get turned down.
10:30pm -- Is the epidural here yet? How many more contractions? They said 10:45, right? So it's almost here? It's coming, right?
10:40pm -- I declare pitocin the Elixir of Satan. Still no one agrees to turn it town. I reach for the dial myself and Mark intercepts me.
Traitor.
10:45pm -- If pain is a great equalizer, it's also a great inhibition-killer. I am yelling. I don't care.
10:50pm -- It's five minutes late what is happening what's going on
where is my f-ing epidural???
10:55pm -- The anesthesiologist (with my epidural) is stuck in surgery. An emergency surgery. Strangely, instead of this making me panic more, it comforts me. It's the first ounce of logic I've tasted in hours. Whoever is having that surgery (I was picturing it as my grandmother, even though both of my grandmothers passed away a decade ago) needs the anesthesiologist more than I do. Even in my state of pain and confusion, I know that having my baby without an epidural was, technically, possible. Heart surgery without an anesthesiologist... notsomuch.
********11pm to 12:45am -- The dark hours.********
Time is fluid. Sometimes it's racing by, sometimes it's frozen. Every contraction, one after the other after the other after the other. Each contraction feels like it will never end.
Screw the grandma in surgery, this pain is going to kill me. I know people said labor would be painful (except my mom who said labor pains were "very manageable" -- I make a mental note to disown my mom), but I honestly never thought that my body could hurt so much and not pass out, or go into shock, or... die. Until tonight, I had no idea how much the human body can withstand. No idea. No freaking idea.
Mark looks terrified. He lies through his fear, saying something along the lines of "You can do this, I know you can." I yell at him that this is not a baseball game and he is not my f-ing coach.
(I'm lovely in labor.)
Every contraction pushes against my abdomen so hard that fluids and grossness are squeezing out of me everywhere. I'm sweating, I'm peeing, I'm crapping, I'm vomiting. Definitely regretting all that fast food. I'm stuck in bed, lying in my own hot mess. I feel humiliated and hardly human. Mark keeps changing towels and sheets, pretending (unconvincingly, but I appreciate the sentiment) to be unbothered.
I am dimly aware of the fact that our nurse is laying low, and Mark has moved into a position of authority. He's pacing my contractions on the monitor, and tells me when each one is at its peak. That way I know when the worst of each one is over and the pain hits a down slope. Sometimes (when he's wrong), this infuriates me. But mostly it's helpful.
I vaguely notice midnight on the clock.
It's now July 26th -- what will definitely be Nathan's birthday. A date that will live on in family importance for the rest of our lives. I can't make myself care or conjure up any sentimentality at all.
There is no one in the world but Nathan and me. We're totally alone, just the two of us. And at the moment, I don't even like him very much. I seriously doubt that he will be worth all this. I'm not sure I even want him anymore. I quit. I take back the pregnancy. Let's just forget about it and go home.
****************
12:50am-ish, July 26, 2007 -- The contractions are slowing down. I have a little more rest in between them. I know from all the books that this means I'm getting close to 10cm and getting close to pushing. I tune back in to Mark. He's still sitting with me, clearly terrified, clearly exhausted. But patient. Like he has all the time in the world. When I cry with every contraction, and plead with him to please make it stop, he cries too. I can tell that watching me, scared and in pain, is breaking his heart. (I remember with complete clarity -- that is the moment I started picturing him as a Daddy.)
12:55am -- My epidural is here, but I'm almost fully dilated. The anesthesiologist asks "are we really going to do this?" I growl at him. We do this.
1:15am -- My epidural is in. Right? That's what we just did. Right? Why can I still feel contractions? Why does it still hurt? Why does it still hurt?
1:16am -- I need to push. I really really really need to push. It's one of the strongest instincts my body has ever felt.
1:20am -- Everything starts moving really fast. Nurses show up. Extra doctors for Nathan, in case the meconium he's swimming in causes problems. They start my second round of antibiotics. Wait, already? It hasn't been four hours yet. Surely that can't mean I'm about to deliver? My epidural doesn't work! I can't push the baby out without it!
1:24am -- I tell Dr. Saaks I want the epidural re-done so I can take a nap before the hard work of pushing. And I need to push
likerightnow, so the fixed epidural needs to happen
likefiveminutesago. She laughs at me. She tells me to give up on the epidural already.
1:25am --
I give up on the epidural already. It's not going to happen. I am terrified.
1:26am -- I'm just shy of 10cm. Dr. Saaks says if my urge is really that strong, I can have one push to get Nathan's head to engage in the birth canal. Normally they don't like moms to push before a full 10cm, in case it damages the cervix. But she's trusting my instincts, and suspects the cervix will just pop right open. It does.
1:27am -- I begin pushing in earnest. It feels so... right. One of those "hurts so good" things. It's such a relief to push. After hours and hours and hours of agony, I feel in control of my body again. I know what to do. I can't believe this is the part I was scared of. It's so much infinitely better than the labor.
1:32am -- Pushing through the next contraction. The nurse tries to tell me when to breathe and when to push and how long to push. Dr. Saaks tells her (in not so many words) to shut the f up, and asks me to just push when I feel the contraction coming on. I fall in love with Dr. Saaks a little bit. When I tell her I want to sit up straight instead of lying on my back, she helps me move the bed. I fall in love with Dr. Saaks a little bit more.
1:37am -- Next contraction. I remember asking Mark after each push if he could see Nathan's head. He can. Apparently he has a thick head of black hair. (Whaaaaa?) And is facing the ceiling instead of the floor. Our baby is sunny-side up. Fabulous. That explains the back pain in labor.
1:40am -- Dr. Saaks tells me I can probably get him out on the next contraction if I push really hard. She reminds us that they'll try to keep him from crying when he comes out, so he doesn't inhale any meconium, and not to let his silence scare us. Mark looks dizzy. We're about to have a son.
1:42am -- Nathan is here! He came out in a whoosh -- head, shoulders, body, cord, fluid, all at once, in one push.
After the delivery, I remember my belly feeling suddenly empty. Too still. Dead inside. I didn't realize how much Nathan's constant movements had been accompanying my being, until I couldn't feel them anymore. I remember waiting a minute or so an eternity for them to suction all the meconium out before he finally cried. I remember seeing Mark in shock at the sound of that cry. (Even now he says he can still hear it clearly in his mind.) He was in a daze. That look on his face will live with me forever.
