The arrival of Little Red
Winter, 2011
After being on blood pressure medication for 3 weeks, (Labetalol, 100mg 2x/day {8am and 4 pm} to 200mg 2x/day to 200 mg 3x/day, in case anyone needs to know) and having my blood drawn each week, the doc said my ldh (a liver enzyme) was steadily going up. This is what happened with my 8th, but it was high enough at 37wks3days to induce. This time, we had kept it at bay and it was just on the line at 38 wks. So I agreed, to my ob's delight, to be induced the day before my due date.
I was divided about this, for several reasons: my 39 wk blood draw showed my ldh had actually gone down to under the limit, for obvious reasons I prefer not to be induced, and I didn't want to play God and let my impatience take over. On the other hand, my doctor and husband both felt good about going ahead, not waiting to get sicker, not waiting to have to do it.
So, after a weekend of knowing it was going to happen (first scheduled induction in 6 kids or so, that was weird - knowing this is our last ______ before Dozer, last popcorn and candy night, last time going to church, etc.), we got the call Tuesday morning. They had said we would go in by 9 or 10. We got the call at 5:45, to be there at 7:30! My plan of having a good breakfast was out the window. I tried to choke down a hastily made turkey sandwich (gag) and part of a bagel but my mouth was nervous and my stomach wasn't interested - but I never missed it.
At my last visit I had measured 2 cm and 60% effaced. So I was hoping for a 3 the morning of the induction. No. I was 1-2. Hmmn. My nurses were all named Sue, and the main one was a good one, one of the tough ones who has been there a long time and knows her stuff. That was good. We did the briefing, a resident came in and acknowledged that it was possible she would deliver the baby, if things went fast at the end, that was nice. Dr. Brooke.
They hooked me up to the pitocin and I had contractions for about 3 hours, some that got my attention, but not very consistent. I tried to rest, but was nervous and excited. We watched TV some during this time, I had cranberry juice, it was okay. Around 12 I was at 3 (which was nice, to have gained a little without too much pain) and my doc asked to have my water broken. Now I know this is controversial, and I don't know if perhaps it would have been better otherwise. There is a part of me that would love to be in that natural, labor-at-home, no-intervention camp, but I've had enough issues with blood pressure, etc., not to have that option, and I can't afford to get bent out of shape when things don't go my way. They don't always, and that's okay too.
Water broken, pretty soon the contractions picked up and before long I was having to work. I leaned over the back of my sat-up bed, which worked well during contractions but not between them, and they were far enough apart that there was some time between them. (In fact, they were never ever really closer together than 3 minutes, consistently anyway.) So my nurse was a fan of the birthing ball, and I did that for a while. I was a little chicken of it, because, um, well, I'm short and fat and was not sure I could keep my balance, but hubby sat behind me and it worked okay. I found the more I hurt, the bigger area I needed to rock and roll on that ball. So at first he was right behind me and I was pushed up next to the bed. Then I backed up and he backed up and the ball made "much bigger circle". (Fiddler on the Roof)
When I am in good hard labor, I do not like to be touched. So my poor husband is asking if he can do anything, and I know people who have counter pressure and back rubbing and I just don't want any part of it. We have a joke, from The Apple Dumplin' Gang, I just say, "Clovis don't like to be touched," and he understands.
At 2 o'clock, I was at 5. From then on, it felt like transition could happen any time. Now that may sound silly, but my transition from 5 to pushing has gone fairly quickly in the past, sometimes, and this was no different, eventually. But not for a while. I kept asking to be checked, and kept being a 5, kept crying wolf, kept feeling stupid. And I wouldn't care, except that I wanted my doctor to be there. But I didn't want him to have to leave patients during office hours only to come stand outside and wait for a long time - and I didn't know. So after about 2 hours of being at 5, I agreed to an epidural. I wasn't progressing. The contractions were wicked, but not long enough or close enough, and I knew I was going to need more pitocin (was at 11) and didn't think I could take it. He wasn't coming down, I was doing everything I knew to do but couldn't relax and suspected an epidural would do the trick.
The thing I had wanted to avoid regarding an epidural was the sit in bed all day and do nothing, don't move, stuck baby with a bruise on her head kind of epidural. So I was okay with getting one here, knowing it wouldn't be long. On the other hand, I was very nervous that I would go through all the trauma of having one placed but not get medicated in time to push. Yeah.
So the anesthesiologist came, I got on the side of the bed in a little ball (not too uncomfortable, if you're not having CONTRACTIONS!)(but I was), and she got it in, except that it went into a vein, which is apparently not where you want it. So she pulled it out and started over. And all the time, I am more and more sure she's not going to get it in in time. And all I could think was, "I just want to have ONE contraction I don't feel, just ONE.
As you can guess, I didn't even get one. I got on my back, they started giving me medicine. With each contraction I kept asking (whining), how much longer do you think it will take? And they kept saying ridiculous things like, 10 to 15 minutes. I think I was just deciding whether to relax, or wait for the pain to stop, and finally something in me clicked and said, the heck with it, I'm pushing. (And the nurse checked me right in the middle of that moment I think and realized it was too late.)
So I said the magic words we had all been waiting for for 2 hours - "I need to push." She said, "don't push." I said, "I'm pushing." And she said, "I know you are honey." Little Red was half way out and they said, now you really have to push, so I did a mighty push and my son came out on the bed. Dr. Brooke came in quickly and did all the uncomfortable things they do right after you have a baby, and I felt a whole lot of it, but I think some of the epidural had kicked in a little.
Red (red hair, red skin - neither will stay that way) was over with Daddy and the nurse being checked out, doing well, but I couldn't see him and didn't know really what was going on, just kicking myself for getting another stupid epidural that we have to pay for but I got no benefit from whatsoever. Oh well, I say. It distracted me through the last leg, maybe relaxed me a bit, maybe got me in a better position . . . in the end, I have a son, I had him naturally, without drugs, and he is marvelous. 8 lb 4 oz, right in the middle of my boys, bigger than any of my girls.
After all my labors I like the line from the end of the movie Hook, that the little guy says when Pan is flying away: Now that was a great game.
Showing posts with label pitocin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pitocin. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Birth Stories, part 5
The Amazing Supermom Rides again, sort of
17 months and 2 weeks later . . .
The Show
Summer 2007
1, bad, 2, 3, 4, good, 5 horrible, 6, 7 great, 8 not great. I talked to a midwife and researched the internet - what can be done about high blood pressure. I was put on a very strict diet, lean meats (not processed - basically didn't do pork), vegetables, 30-50 grams carbohydrates per day (I did have whole wheat pancakes at least once a week, with blueberries and almonds, butter, no syrup), 120 oz water a day and a boatload of vitamins (C, juice plus, garlic, and I honestly don't remember what else).
Probably the main thing that was different is that I gained no weight. Actually I lost a bunch and gradually worked my way back up until, on the day he was born, I weighed the same as the day I found out I was pregnant.
My blood pressure was borderline near the end, but I didn't have to be induced and went into labor on my own, a few days BEFORE my due date. And I was bleeding. That day was my most typical labor, starting very gradually, writing the contractions down with times and seeing them get closer together all day long.
My husband was working, finishing our retaining wall, and I had the pleasure of telling him to hurry up because it was almost time to go the hospital. My doctor was not on call, and I had no relationship with the guy covering for him.
So I went in with contractions around 5 minutes apart, still feeling okay, but with bright red blood. I was afraid, and prayed, and gave the baby to God, again. The middle name we had for a boy meant "he belongs to God" and I just kept telling Him that, over and over, praying for the next kick. But he seemed to be okay.
When I got to the hospital I was 7 or 8 centimeters, still in a good mood, doing well. My bp was probably a little high, and I got in bed, thinking we were almost there. Then began the worst hour and a half (or 10 minutes or 6 days - I have no idea how long it was) of labor in my life. It was horrible and nothing I did helped. And this doc didn't know what to do with me. Here I was at 8 centimeters, not progressing, writhing, changing positions, wanting to die, bleeding, and all the while the baby's heart tones are slowing and slowing and slowing.
Finally, the doc says, I need you to try to push. And I did, and I did push that baby out, knowing we were very near a C-section.
He was fabulous. 8 lb 4 oz maybe - I am not sure. It was supposed to be triumphant, but didn't feel triumphant. It felt like a failure because I couldn't handle the pain, because my placenta was abrupting, because even without pitocin or an induction, even going completely natural, it hurt like, well, worse than anything I'd experienced.
Maybe having had the epidural with the last baby, I had forgotten? Maybe I'm getting old? It was unnerving. I lost my nerve. I lost my confidence, my pluck. And for the first time, I was afraid.
Too good to be true
Almost 2 years later
Spring, 2009
There were an additional 5 months between 9 and 10, as compared to the other children's spacing. And each month I would relinquish to God my right to have any more children. If 9 was it, that was fine. If there were more, that would also be wonderful. I was grateful for the set we had and was okay either way, to add more or be done.
So when I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic - this baby was not a foregone conclusion, not an assumption. I knew God didn't have to give me any more children - and I was grateful that somehow He had chosen to bless me again.
I think because, even though my ob considered the last baby to be a success for me, I felt like a failure somehow - I didn't try to eat as well during my next pregnancy. I just gave up. My placenta had started to detach, a symptom of high blood pressure, and my blood pressure had been high, not enough to induce, but high nonetheless. For all my sacrificing, I had avoided an early induction, but I had not had a "good labor" like I'd had with 6 & 7.
So I crapped out. I did walk on the treadmill for a while, and kept it under control (maybe), but then I got sick and stopped that too. And when my bp was high at 37 wks, I said, I don't want to risk waiting and having my placenta detach again, let's go for it. The previous labor was scary, why wait.
At 37 weeks and 1 day I went to my check up, my pressure was high, I went to the WEU, it didn't come down, and they sent me upstairs. My stomach was empty, it was mid morning, and that was not in my favor. I had another long haul ahead of me, and my body wasn't ready.
So, just like with Bibith, I had a super long slow tedious unproductive induction, and gave in to an epidural more from exhaustion and hunger than actual pain. I just didn't think I could do it.
Another all day of imaginary labor (that's how it feels), with a little jello maybe, and at some point started to bleed. WHAT? Another abruption? Not good. Not good at all.
The baby did fine, heart tones good, no distress, but not coming down. Finally, a nurse suggested a position change that seemed to help and our baby girl was born, 7 lb 2 oz, after 17 hours of seeming futility. She didn't nurse well, had a bruise covering the top of her head (poor presentation) and became quite jaundiced.
So even though I have these 10 amazing children, all healthy and strong, all of whom who went home from the hospital on time and nursed for at the least 4 months, even though all that, I look back on my last 3 deliveries as relative failures. I probably shouldn't, but compared to how great and confident I felt after the earlier ones, I do.
The next birth story is not mine, and has had some attention already, and really deserves it's own post.
But, heading into the next delivery, having gained 40 or more lbs, with swollen ankles and feet and calves, knowing my blood pressure will most likely be high, knowing our little person may have challenges of his or her own, I don't know even what to hope for.
I think I'll be induced. Either my bp will be high, or the baby's growth will necessitate a delivery. I do not want to have an epidural. I think my labors with epidurals and especially stuck in bed do not progress, baby gets stuck, labor is long and often hard on baby, and potentially affects the health of the baby after, including blood sugar and jaundice.
My plan is to go to every ob appointment with a very full stomach and schedule all my appointments early in the morning. If I get sent to the WEU I'll have a snack on the way. I have a friend who is going to help me get through the hard parts, only allowing me to have an epidural if I say the secret password. I have to lay down if I can to conserve my strength, use heat, massage, anything available to get through the parts that I can stand to be in bed, so that I have strength to be up when it gets hard.
And I need to find that secret place again, that place where I find the Lord, praying and seeking His face and basking in His presence during my most sacred moments. In my weakness, He shows Himself most strong - hasn't that been the theme of this season.
I have to give my best labor this time. More than ever, my baby might need it. And I need it. I need to not feel like a failure again. I need one more good story. I need to find that place of communion with the Creator, Womb-Wonder-Worker, the Knitter in the secret place. I need to link arms with Him again, as together we bring another life into His world for His glory.
So help me God.
17 months and 2 weeks later . . .
The Show
Summer 2007
1, bad, 2, 3, 4, good, 5 horrible, 6, 7 great, 8 not great. I talked to a midwife and researched the internet - what can be done about high blood pressure. I was put on a very strict diet, lean meats (not processed - basically didn't do pork), vegetables, 30-50 grams carbohydrates per day (I did have whole wheat pancakes at least once a week, with blueberries and almonds, butter, no syrup), 120 oz water a day and a boatload of vitamins (C, juice plus, garlic, and I honestly don't remember what else).
Probably the main thing that was different is that I gained no weight. Actually I lost a bunch and gradually worked my way back up until, on the day he was born, I weighed the same as the day I found out I was pregnant.
My blood pressure was borderline near the end, but I didn't have to be induced and went into labor on my own, a few days BEFORE my due date. And I was bleeding. That day was my most typical labor, starting very gradually, writing the contractions down with times and seeing them get closer together all day long.
My husband was working, finishing our retaining wall, and I had the pleasure of telling him to hurry up because it was almost time to go the hospital. My doctor was not on call, and I had no relationship with the guy covering for him.
So I went in with contractions around 5 minutes apart, still feeling okay, but with bright red blood. I was afraid, and prayed, and gave the baby to God, again. The middle name we had for a boy meant "he belongs to God" and I just kept telling Him that, over and over, praying for the next kick. But he seemed to be okay.
When I got to the hospital I was 7 or 8 centimeters, still in a good mood, doing well. My bp was probably a little high, and I got in bed, thinking we were almost there. Then began the worst hour and a half (or 10 minutes or 6 days - I have no idea how long it was) of labor in my life. It was horrible and nothing I did helped. And this doc didn't know what to do with me. Here I was at 8 centimeters, not progressing, writhing, changing positions, wanting to die, bleeding, and all the while the baby's heart tones are slowing and slowing and slowing.
Finally, the doc says, I need you to try to push. And I did, and I did push that baby out, knowing we were very near a C-section.
He was fabulous. 8 lb 4 oz maybe - I am not sure. It was supposed to be triumphant, but didn't feel triumphant. It felt like a failure because I couldn't handle the pain, because my placenta was abrupting, because even without pitocin or an induction, even going completely natural, it hurt like, well, worse than anything I'd experienced.
Maybe having had the epidural with the last baby, I had forgotten? Maybe I'm getting old? It was unnerving. I lost my nerve. I lost my confidence, my pluck. And for the first time, I was afraid.
Too good to be true
Almost 2 years later
Spring, 2009
There were an additional 5 months between 9 and 10, as compared to the other children's spacing. And each month I would relinquish to God my right to have any more children. If 9 was it, that was fine. If there were more, that would also be wonderful. I was grateful for the set we had and was okay either way, to add more or be done.
So when I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic - this baby was not a foregone conclusion, not an assumption. I knew God didn't have to give me any more children - and I was grateful that somehow He had chosen to bless me again.
I think because, even though my ob considered the last baby to be a success for me, I felt like a failure somehow - I didn't try to eat as well during my next pregnancy. I just gave up. My placenta had started to detach, a symptom of high blood pressure, and my blood pressure had been high, not enough to induce, but high nonetheless. For all my sacrificing, I had avoided an early induction, but I had not had a "good labor" like I'd had with 6 & 7.
So I crapped out. I did walk on the treadmill for a while, and kept it under control (maybe), but then I got sick and stopped that too. And when my bp was high at 37 wks, I said, I don't want to risk waiting and having my placenta detach again, let's go for it. The previous labor was scary, why wait.
At 37 weeks and 1 day I went to my check up, my pressure was high, I went to the WEU, it didn't come down, and they sent me upstairs. My stomach was empty, it was mid morning, and that was not in my favor. I had another long haul ahead of me, and my body wasn't ready.
So, just like with Bibith, I had a super long slow tedious unproductive induction, and gave in to an epidural more from exhaustion and hunger than actual pain. I just didn't think I could do it.
Another all day of imaginary labor (that's how it feels), with a little jello maybe, and at some point started to bleed. WHAT? Another abruption? Not good. Not good at all.
The baby did fine, heart tones good, no distress, but not coming down. Finally, a nurse suggested a position change that seemed to help and our baby girl was born, 7 lb 2 oz, after 17 hours of seeming futility. She didn't nurse well, had a bruise covering the top of her head (poor presentation) and became quite jaundiced.
So even though I have these 10 amazing children, all healthy and strong, all of whom who went home from the hospital on time and nursed for at the least 4 months, even though all that, I look back on my last 3 deliveries as relative failures. I probably shouldn't, but compared to how great and confident I felt after the earlier ones, I do.
The next birth story is not mine, and has had some attention already, and really deserves it's own post.
But, heading into the next delivery, having gained 40 or more lbs, with swollen ankles and feet and calves, knowing my blood pressure will most likely be high, knowing our little person may have challenges of his or her own, I don't know even what to hope for.
I think I'll be induced. Either my bp will be high, or the baby's growth will necessitate a delivery. I do not want to have an epidural. I think my labors with epidurals and especially stuck in bed do not progress, baby gets stuck, labor is long and often hard on baby, and potentially affects the health of the baby after, including blood sugar and jaundice.
My plan is to go to every ob appointment with a very full stomach and schedule all my appointments early in the morning. If I get sent to the WEU I'll have a snack on the way. I have a friend who is going to help me get through the hard parts, only allowing me to have an epidural if I say the secret password. I have to lay down if I can to conserve my strength, use heat, massage, anything available to get through the parts that I can stand to be in bed, so that I have strength to be up when it gets hard.
And I need to find that secret place again, that place where I find the Lord, praying and seeking His face and basking in His presence during my most sacred moments. In my weakness, He shows Himself most strong - hasn't that been the theme of this season.
I have to give my best labor this time. More than ever, my baby might need it. And I need it. I need to not feel like a failure again. I need one more good story. I need to find that place of communion with the Creator, Womb-Wonder-Worker, the Knitter in the secret place. I need to link arms with Him again, as together we bring another life into His world for His glory.
So help me God.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Birth stories, part 3
15 months, 3 weeks later . . .
Nani, summer, Y2K
Firstborn daughter celebrated her fourth birthday 9 days before the arrival of her new sister. In fact, for a while, we had a joke that all our kids got a baby when they turned 4. This baby was conceived against all our understanding of periods and calendars and birth control, and it was at about this time we figured out that we were not very good at family planning. I read the books "A Mom Just Like You" by Vickie Farris (wife of HSLDA Pres. Michael Farris) and "A Full Quiver" by Rick and Jan Hess. The first book has two chapters about giving God control of your fertility, one about letting God give you more kids, and the other about trusting God when He doesn't give you more kids - very humbly and gently spoken. The second book is a dogmatic and somewhat sassy presentation of the same basic concept, that babies are a blessing from God to be received with joy.
All I knew was that I was pregnant with my fourth (and presumed final) baby at a young age, and wasn't ready to be done. So somewhere during this time period, WE decided WE were willing to have at least one more.
We also got a bigger house. At 8 months pregnant. Sigh.
It is possible that this delivery represents the height of my arrogance. Knowing that after an ob appointment I would have contractions, knowing my ob (different than the one who delivered my first 3 children) would supplement my "labor" if I showed up at the hospital with contractions (even though we all knew I wasn't really in labor), I had a check up, went for a walk on the hospital grounds, and went in. They hooked me up, decided I needed pitocin to "supplement" my "labor" and there you go, I was induced.
I walked around the floor on pitocin for a couple hours, did nipple stimulation in the room to help it along, and eventually really was in labor. My nurse, Val, who really was very experienced, was telling me it would be a long time, and that I was in too good of a mood and not really in labor yet. I believed her and asked for an epidural. In the 10 minutes it took for the anesthesiologist to get there, I really went into labor and progressed quite rapidly.
My parents popped their heads in while it was being placed, and were told to come back in a half an hour. "A half an hour?!" I said. "What happens in a half an hour?" They answered that I would be feeling much better then. I told them that I didn't think I had that long. I was told I would receive a test dose to see how I handled it, and then I'd get the full dose. But as soon as I turned over, I said, "I want to push, I need to push, I'm pushing (conjugating the verb, you know)."
7 lb, 8 oz Anne (means grace) was born into the hands of Val and the anesthesiologist. A doctor came in from the hall and checked to see if everything was okay, and my doctor showed up a few minutes later. I went from 5 centimeters to baby in 15 minutes. So I began to get a reputation for quick deliveries. We were only at the hospital for about 4 hours.
However . . .
Dimples, Fall 2001
Fifteen months and 3 weeks later, my bubble was burst. Since I'd had a big baby and two fast babies and lived a half hour from the hospital and had 4 small children to find childcare for (blah, blah, blah), and since my OB was probably tired of my whining, we scheduled an induction for the day before her due date. At this point, I had figured out the whole thing, standing up during labor, working through contractions, etc.
The thing I hadn't figured on was high blood pressure. This is where it begins. My blood pressure was high that day, so I had to stay in bed. All. Day. Child number 5 hadn't been told that I go quickly. Contractions that happen at 2 centimeters when you lay on your back in bed feel very much the same as contractions that happen at 6 or 7 or 8 centimeters when you are up moving around. It is just that different. But I knew I would go quickly, so I held off on the epidural. After all, I was a week more pregnant than the last two babies.
But alas! This was the labor that never ends, the baby who was coming down wrong, positioned wrong, I couldn't (didn't know enough to) move around in the bed to help her out, had a freaked out nurse, and came pretty darn close to a c-section and/or vacuum extraction.
Finally, my doctor said, "I know you aren't complete and don't have the urge to push yet, but (heart tones dropping, I've been on O2 for a while, an O2 sat monitor on the baby's head, amnio infusion, all the interventions going in me without an epidural, the guy doing it rolled his eyes when he realized I was feeling the whole thing, I thought there were like 3 sets of hands in there and wondered while they were all in there why they didn't just grab the baby and pull it out!) we need you to push this baby out."
I had an anterior lip, or something like that, but after 20 hours of pitocin, when I saw the vacuum extractor come out (which looked to me like Mr. Waternoose and Randall's scream machine from Monsters, Inc.) I gave a mighty push, like Casey at the Bat, and Voila! A silent blue child emerged.
I asked if she was ok several thousand times and no one answered (or they did but not convincingly, because she was still silent).
But eventually she did scream and we all started breathing again. I was anticipating a boy. I was anticipating a great and triumphant labor. I was anticipating everything going the way I wanted it to. And it didn't happen the way I anticipated.
What happened instead was dimples. 6 of them. Not even smiling, I counted 6 dimples and the brightest eyes I had ever seen. And after the scare she gave me, I loved that baby so hard. 7 lbs, 8 oz, Claire, meaning light. Her song was Claire de Lune, and she reminded me of how our light is just a reflection of The Light that coming into the world was the Light of men, and the darkness could not overwhelm it.
The next couple days of storybookland continued. I hemorraged a bit, nearly passing out, seemed to have a little something left inside, more hands inside without enough pain medication to handle it.
The entire experience was enough to make me consider whether to have more, whether to switch doctors, etc. But I did a pile of research on the internet, figured out what I'd been doing wrong, and went into the next labor with a whole new groove in mind.
16 months 3 weeks later
Nuke, spring 2003
I was committed to ridding myself of Pitocin forever. I was going to wait. I would wait until I was in labor, real labor. I wasn't going to whine or be impatient or self induce or use nipple stimulation. I was going to wait until the baby was ready to come out and my body was ready to give birth. I was going to let God be in charge of when my labor started instead of trying to make it happen myself.
So here we were, expecting another child, partly because we still had a boy name we were waiting on, Nicholas - victorious. And my due date came and went, of course. And approaching the one week mark, with offers of pitocin, I held firm. After my last doctor appointment, on a Friday afternoon, I asked my husband to meet me at the mall, and we walked for two hours with hard contractions every 2 minutes, breathing through them, sure this would be it, but so tired. Sat down to rest, contractions all gone, bye-bye.
The agony and humiliation of going home to children and in-laws without being in labor. I half heartedly vacuumed the basement, but knew in my heart that I would, in fact, be pregnant for-e-ver. Ate dinner, went to bed, didn't even bother with the marital action, too disappointed. Woke up to pee at 2:30, sat on the can and Whammo! Contraction. Felt the head come down. Hmmn. That was interesting.
Back in bed, 5 minutes later, contraction. Hmmn. That's never happened before, two regular hard contractions in a row without any outside influence. What do you know? 5 minutes later, if you can believe it, I had another one.
I got out of bed and got dressed, beginning to believe in my heart that the impossible might actually happen to me, I might for real give birth without being induced. And lo and behold another contraction, 5 minutes apart. So the stories were true.
I woke up the husband, he told his parents, and we were off. Contractions still happening in the van, though not so painful (didn't occur to me to be thankful for this). Walked into triage (or whatever it was called then), and they didn't know what to do with me. I was smiling (grinning from ear to ear probably) but said I was in labor, hadn't called my ob. Well, okay, they would check me.
Six! I was at 6 centimeters. 6 centimeters with my 6th baby, they started to believe me. But my blood pressure was high, so they'd give me a few minutes to see if they could get a better blood pressure reading before taking me upstairs. So they're out with my husband at the desk, filling things out, and I'm hurting pretty bad and wishing I was not on a gurney and sploosh! My water broke. Um, green, yeah, everywhere. Well now I had everyone's full attention. Blood pressure reading or no, it was time to go upstairs. Did I mention that I have had a couple quick babies?
So up we went and a few minutes later the pitocin loving doctor walks in (the one who started the drip with child #2 without any notice or permission) and offers to get me going again (because the contractions slowed when my water broke). But I know, from my research, that my uterus just has to catch up because it is all big and inflated and just lost all the water that it was full of. So I insist and he and the nurse leave us alone. No i.v. Was there a monitor? Yes, but it wasn't staying on and THEY DIDN'T CARE! (That was different.)
A few minutes later the contractions picked up again. I got up on all fours with my head and arms resting on the elevated headboard (butt completely exposed, thank you very much) and worked through a couple. Then I had my first transition-like contraction, and I thought, "Oh, it still has to hurt like this, even without pitocin," followed by the tiniest beginning of the urge to push at the very end. We radioed the nurse and she came right in, I got on my back, she checked me, agreed that I was complete, called the desk and said, "tell him to run." She helped me to not push (incredibly, the hardest part of his labor was the NOT pushing), made me look her in the eye, pant, etc, until he got there (because the water was green, we needed him there). She was good.
We gave birth a push or so later to a green haired, punk rocker named Nicholas, who I believe weighed 7 lb, 15 oz. He had a little trouble staying warm, but other than that was a champ, and I felt like Rocky, myself. It had been only 3-4 hours since that first contraction. Beautiful.
Nani, summer, Y2K
Firstborn daughter celebrated her fourth birthday 9 days before the arrival of her new sister. In fact, for a while, we had a joke that all our kids got a baby when they turned 4. This baby was conceived against all our understanding of periods and calendars and birth control, and it was at about this time we figured out that we were not very good at family planning. I read the books "A Mom Just Like You" by Vickie Farris (wife of HSLDA Pres. Michael Farris) and "A Full Quiver" by Rick and Jan Hess. The first book has two chapters about giving God control of your fertility, one about letting God give you more kids, and the other about trusting God when He doesn't give you more kids - very humbly and gently spoken. The second book is a dogmatic and somewhat sassy presentation of the same basic concept, that babies are a blessing from God to be received with joy.
All I knew was that I was pregnant with my fourth (and presumed final) baby at a young age, and wasn't ready to be done. So somewhere during this time period, WE decided WE were willing to have at least one more.
We also got a bigger house. At 8 months pregnant. Sigh.
It is possible that this delivery represents the height of my arrogance. Knowing that after an ob appointment I would have contractions, knowing my ob (different than the one who delivered my first 3 children) would supplement my "labor" if I showed up at the hospital with contractions (even though we all knew I wasn't really in labor), I had a check up, went for a walk on the hospital grounds, and went in. They hooked me up, decided I needed pitocin to "supplement" my "labor" and there you go, I was induced.
I walked around the floor on pitocin for a couple hours, did nipple stimulation in the room to help it along, and eventually really was in labor. My nurse, Val, who really was very experienced, was telling me it would be a long time, and that I was in too good of a mood and not really in labor yet. I believed her and asked for an epidural. In the 10 minutes it took for the anesthesiologist to get there, I really went into labor and progressed quite rapidly.
My parents popped their heads in while it was being placed, and were told to come back in a half an hour. "A half an hour?!" I said. "What happens in a half an hour?" They answered that I would be feeling much better then. I told them that I didn't think I had that long. I was told I would receive a test dose to see how I handled it, and then I'd get the full dose. But as soon as I turned over, I said, "I want to push, I need to push, I'm pushing (conjugating the verb, you know)."
7 lb, 8 oz Anne (means grace) was born into the hands of Val and the anesthesiologist. A doctor came in from the hall and checked to see if everything was okay, and my doctor showed up a few minutes later. I went from 5 centimeters to baby in 15 minutes. So I began to get a reputation for quick deliveries. We were only at the hospital for about 4 hours.
However . . .
Dimples, Fall 2001
Fifteen months and 3 weeks later, my bubble was burst. Since I'd had a big baby and two fast babies and lived a half hour from the hospital and had 4 small children to find childcare for (blah, blah, blah), and since my OB was probably tired of my whining, we scheduled an induction for the day before her due date. At this point, I had figured out the whole thing, standing up during labor, working through contractions, etc.
The thing I hadn't figured on was high blood pressure. This is where it begins. My blood pressure was high that day, so I had to stay in bed. All. Day. Child number 5 hadn't been told that I go quickly. Contractions that happen at 2 centimeters when you lay on your back in bed feel very much the same as contractions that happen at 6 or 7 or 8 centimeters when you are up moving around. It is just that different. But I knew I would go quickly, so I held off on the epidural. After all, I was a week more pregnant than the last two babies.
But alas! This was the labor that never ends, the baby who was coming down wrong, positioned wrong, I couldn't (didn't know enough to) move around in the bed to help her out, had a freaked out nurse, and came pretty darn close to a c-section and/or vacuum extraction.
Finally, my doctor said, "I know you aren't complete and don't have the urge to push yet, but (heart tones dropping, I've been on O2 for a while, an O2 sat monitor on the baby's head, amnio infusion, all the interventions going in me without an epidural, the guy doing it rolled his eyes when he realized I was feeling the whole thing, I thought there were like 3 sets of hands in there and wondered while they were all in there why they didn't just grab the baby and pull it out!) we need you to push this baby out."
I had an anterior lip, or something like that, but after 20 hours of pitocin, when I saw the vacuum extractor come out (which looked to me like Mr. Waternoose and Randall's scream machine from Monsters, Inc.) I gave a mighty push, like Casey at the Bat, and Voila! A silent blue child emerged.
I asked if she was ok several thousand times and no one answered (or they did but not convincingly, because she was still silent).
But eventually she did scream and we all started breathing again. I was anticipating a boy. I was anticipating a great and triumphant labor. I was anticipating everything going the way I wanted it to. And it didn't happen the way I anticipated.
What happened instead was dimples. 6 of them. Not even smiling, I counted 6 dimples and the brightest eyes I had ever seen. And after the scare she gave me, I loved that baby so hard. 7 lbs, 8 oz, Claire, meaning light. Her song was Claire de Lune, and she reminded me of how our light is just a reflection of The Light that coming into the world was the Light of men, and the darkness could not overwhelm it.
The next couple days of storybookland continued. I hemorraged a bit, nearly passing out, seemed to have a little something left inside, more hands inside without enough pain medication to handle it.
The entire experience was enough to make me consider whether to have more, whether to switch doctors, etc. But I did a pile of research on the internet, figured out what I'd been doing wrong, and went into the next labor with a whole new groove in mind.
16 months 3 weeks later
Nuke, spring 2003
I was committed to ridding myself of Pitocin forever. I was going to wait. I would wait until I was in labor, real labor. I wasn't going to whine or be impatient or self induce or use nipple stimulation. I was going to wait until the baby was ready to come out and my body was ready to give birth. I was going to let God be in charge of when my labor started instead of trying to make it happen myself.
So here we were, expecting another child, partly because we still had a boy name we were waiting on, Nicholas - victorious. And my due date came and went, of course. And approaching the one week mark, with offers of pitocin, I held firm. After my last doctor appointment, on a Friday afternoon, I asked my husband to meet me at the mall, and we walked for two hours with hard contractions every 2 minutes, breathing through them, sure this would be it, but so tired. Sat down to rest, contractions all gone, bye-bye.
The agony and humiliation of going home to children and in-laws without being in labor. I half heartedly vacuumed the basement, but knew in my heart that I would, in fact, be pregnant for-e-ver. Ate dinner, went to bed, didn't even bother with the marital action, too disappointed. Woke up to pee at 2:30, sat on the can and Whammo! Contraction. Felt the head come down. Hmmn. That was interesting.
Back in bed, 5 minutes later, contraction. Hmmn. That's never happened before, two regular hard contractions in a row without any outside influence. What do you know? 5 minutes later, if you can believe it, I had another one.
I got out of bed and got dressed, beginning to believe in my heart that the impossible might actually happen to me, I might for real give birth without being induced. And lo and behold another contraction, 5 minutes apart. So the stories were true.
I woke up the husband, he told his parents, and we were off. Contractions still happening in the van, though not so painful (didn't occur to me to be thankful for this). Walked into triage (or whatever it was called then), and they didn't know what to do with me. I was smiling (grinning from ear to ear probably) but said I was in labor, hadn't called my ob. Well, okay, they would check me.
Six! I was at 6 centimeters. 6 centimeters with my 6th baby, they started to believe me. But my blood pressure was high, so they'd give me a few minutes to see if they could get a better blood pressure reading before taking me upstairs. So they're out with my husband at the desk, filling things out, and I'm hurting pretty bad and wishing I was not on a gurney and sploosh! My water broke. Um, green, yeah, everywhere. Well now I had everyone's full attention. Blood pressure reading or no, it was time to go upstairs. Did I mention that I have had a couple quick babies?
So up we went and a few minutes later the pitocin loving doctor walks in (the one who started the drip with child #2 without any notice or permission) and offers to get me going again (because the contractions slowed when my water broke). But I know, from my research, that my uterus just has to catch up because it is all big and inflated and just lost all the water that it was full of. So I insist and he and the nurse leave us alone. No i.v. Was there a monitor? Yes, but it wasn't staying on and THEY DIDN'T CARE! (That was different.)
A few minutes later the contractions picked up again. I got up on all fours with my head and arms resting on the elevated headboard (butt completely exposed, thank you very much) and worked through a couple. Then I had my first transition-like contraction, and I thought, "Oh, it still has to hurt like this, even without pitocin," followed by the tiniest beginning of the urge to push at the very end. We radioed the nurse and she came right in, I got on my back, she checked me, agreed that I was complete, called the desk and said, "tell him to run." She helped me to not push (incredibly, the hardest part of his labor was the NOT pushing), made me look her in the eye, pant, etc, until he got there (because the water was green, we needed him there). She was good.
We gave birth a push or so later to a green haired, punk rocker named Nicholas, who I believe weighed 7 lb, 15 oz. He had a little trouble staying warm, but other than that was a champ, and I felt like Rocky, myself. It had been only 3-4 hours since that first contraction. Beautiful.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Birth stories, part 2
15 months and 3 weeks later . . .
Booty, spring 1999
My first two children were supposed to be 3 years apart and were really less than 17 months apart, 512 days. So when I found out was pregnant with our third child, I cried. This was not the plan. As I said before, I meant to have 4 children 3 years apart, and instead, I would have 3 children in less than three years. (Around this time I read the book "No Ordinary Home" which I love). But my husband didn't cry, he was pleased.
I was afraid I'd never leave the house again. I researched on-line grocery shopping. I thought life was over. I was, of course, again, wrong.
Since our first son weighed 9 lb 10 oz, we used that as an excuse to deliver early. There was some discrepency about when I was actually due, so I was going with the soonest possible due date, and that helped my cause. Finally, since I had discovered that through nipple stimulation, one could practically induce her own labor, I had big impatience and control issues. Finally, to get me to shut up maybe, my doctor said, when you have some contractions going, come on in, we'll hook you up, break your water, and get you delivered.
Only problem, the baby's head was pretty high. So the nurse actually encouraged me to get out of bed and walk with my labor (what a novel idea). I labored all night while my husband slept. I prayed, sang, and had a great time with God. But I was afraid they were going to send me home. At last, I was really in labor, progressing, and the nurse turned the pit off, thinking my body would take over. Wrong! I was 38 wks 5 days, my body takes 41 weeks to make a baby, and my labor went away. So they turned it back up, and the doc went down the hall for coffee.
I labored a while longer, and got on the bed to be checked. Sure enough, I was ready, and the nurse deliberately did not break my water, knowing the baby was sure to come when she did. So we were waiting for the doctor, the nurse was young and inexperienced, and I told her I wanted to push. She said, "don't you want to wait for the doctor", and I said, "not really. I decided to give just a little push, to relieve the pressure just a little, and whoosh! My water broke and my little 7 lb 5 oz boy swam right out onto the bed (which, thankfully, was still intact). Just me, Dad, the nurse, and our little son, whose name means son of my right hand (funny, because he's a lefty). Within a few minutes we had a whole lot of doctors and nurses in the room, and I'm sure the nurse felt terrible.
Surprises/lessons learned:
You can't really decide when to go into labor all by yourself. The contractions you can induce at home can be painful, but unless you are ready, they won't push a baby out.
Standing up and moving with labor is ever-so-much less painful and more efficient than laying on your back in a bed. It took about 12 hours, but most of that was very managable.
A baby who spends no time in the birth canal is beautiful! No battle marks on this boy.
I was so very surprised to have another son. I figured one son was what you got. In my family there were 3 girls and 1 boy, so I guessed that was what I would have. I remember sitting on my couch watching basketball with my sonS and calling my dad and rubbing it in.
Finally, going from 2 to 3 was not that big of a deal. I used a double stroller and a baby carrier and still went everywhere. I got strange looks, but still had enough of an ego to enjoy that. The bigger two played well together, and we did okay. It was loud and crazy, but I didn't really know any better.
Oh, I also learned not to potty train a toddler right before having a new baby. The last thing a new nursing mom wants to do is stop, put the baby down and run to the bathroom to wipe a bottom, even if it's a cute bottom.
Another side story: I had my worst case of thrush with this kid, and it beat me. We stopped nursing at 5 months. If I knew then what I know now . . . cut out sugar and dairy, take diflucan and power-acidophilus, boil everything, use gentian violet and diaper rash & thrush ointment from cottonbabies.com . . . but I didn't, it got way out of control and I lost.
Booty, spring 1999
My first two children were supposed to be 3 years apart and were really less than 17 months apart, 512 days. So when I found out was pregnant with our third child, I cried. This was not the plan. As I said before, I meant to have 4 children 3 years apart, and instead, I would have 3 children in less than three years. (Around this time I read the book "No Ordinary Home" which I love). But my husband didn't cry, he was pleased.
I was afraid I'd never leave the house again. I researched on-line grocery shopping. I thought life was over. I was, of course, again, wrong.
Since our first son weighed 9 lb 10 oz, we used that as an excuse to deliver early. There was some discrepency about when I was actually due, so I was going with the soonest possible due date, and that helped my cause. Finally, since I had discovered that through nipple stimulation, one could practically induce her own labor, I had big impatience and control issues. Finally, to get me to shut up maybe, my doctor said, when you have some contractions going, come on in, we'll hook you up, break your water, and get you delivered.
Only problem, the baby's head was pretty high. So the nurse actually encouraged me to get out of bed and walk with my labor (what a novel idea). I labored all night while my husband slept. I prayed, sang, and had a great time with God. But I was afraid they were going to send me home. At last, I was really in labor, progressing, and the nurse turned the pit off, thinking my body would take over. Wrong! I was 38 wks 5 days, my body takes 41 weeks to make a baby, and my labor went away. So they turned it back up, and the doc went down the hall for coffee.
I labored a while longer, and got on the bed to be checked. Sure enough, I was ready, and the nurse deliberately did not break my water, knowing the baby was sure to come when she did. So we were waiting for the doctor, the nurse was young and inexperienced, and I told her I wanted to push. She said, "don't you want to wait for the doctor", and I said, "not really. I decided to give just a little push, to relieve the pressure just a little, and whoosh! My water broke and my little 7 lb 5 oz boy swam right out onto the bed (which, thankfully, was still intact). Just me, Dad, the nurse, and our little son, whose name means son of my right hand (funny, because he's a lefty). Within a few minutes we had a whole lot of doctors and nurses in the room, and I'm sure the nurse felt terrible.
Surprises/lessons learned:
You can't really decide when to go into labor all by yourself. The contractions you can induce at home can be painful, but unless you are ready, they won't push a baby out.
Standing up and moving with labor is ever-so-much less painful and more efficient than laying on your back in a bed. It took about 12 hours, but most of that was very managable.
A baby who spends no time in the birth canal is beautiful! No battle marks on this boy.
I was so very surprised to have another son. I figured one son was what you got. In my family there were 3 girls and 1 boy, so I guessed that was what I would have. I remember sitting on my couch watching basketball with my sonS and calling my dad and rubbing it in.
Finally, going from 2 to 3 was not that big of a deal. I used a double stroller and a baby carrier and still went everywhere. I got strange looks, but still had enough of an ego to enjoy that. The bigger two played well together, and we did okay. It was loud and crazy, but I didn't really know any better.
Oh, I also learned not to potty train a toddler right before having a new baby. The last thing a new nursing mom wants to do is stop, put the baby down and run to the bathroom to wipe a bottom, even if it's a cute bottom.
Another side story: I had my worst case of thrush with this kid, and it beat me. We stopped nursing at 5 months. If I knew then what I know now . . . cut out sugar and dairy, take diflucan and power-acidophilus, boil everything, use gentian violet and diaper rash & thrush ointment from cottonbabies.com . . . but I didn't, it got way out of control and I lost.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Birth Stories, part 1
About this time of pregnancy, I begin to obsess about labor and delivery, when it might happen, how it might happen, how I want it to be different than my other labors. And I think about my other children's deliveries, watch the videos. I read birth stories of other women, specifically as they pertain to things I may go through.
This time I've been trying to find birth stories of women about to give birth for the eleventh time in 14 years, who weigh over 250 lbs and are nearly 40 years old, with a history of pre-eclampsia or high blood pressure and with the possibility of trisomy 21. Would you believe I've had a hard time finding any? So I'm writing mine, just in case people want to know.
Kat, 1996
I started my first pregnancy overweight and pretty ignorant. I gained a decent amount of weight. I enjoyed it until the end. I had an induction scheduled for 4 days after my due date because my OB suggested it and it never occurred to me not to do it. We took classes through the OB's office, including the epidural class offered by the hospital. My desire was to go as far as I could without an epidural in hopes of having future babies without one. (Incidentally, at that time, my plan was to have 4 babies, 3 years apart.)
So I went in on a Friday morning in early summer, after leading worship at a Kent Henry conference and dancing around the room in full bloom, got all hooked up, didn't know what a contraction was. After a few hours I felt some, and wondered if I would recognize them if I had them at home. For a while it was a fun game, watching them on the monitor, playing cards, with the excitement of knowing we were having our baby that day.
One of the exciting things was that we didn't know if we were having a boy or girl. Names are always very significant to us, and the names we had chosen for our first meant very different things: either Isaac, meaning laughter, or Katherine, meaning pure.
Beyond that, I was in for a huge surprise.
By 1:00 p.m. I was beginning to be uncomfortable, by 4:00 I was on stadol. My opinion of stadol is that it is a not funny joke. It knocks you out between contractions so that all your consciousness is PAIN. And you are loopy so you cannot focus on handling the contractions. My mom and sisters had been with me up till this point, and while I was hallucinating on stadol my dad showed up. So I would wake up to a contraction, want to die, the contraction would end, and I would say, "I dreamed my dad was here, is he here?" They would say yes and I'd pass out again. This process repeated itself for a year and a half.
Eventually the stadol wore off, the contractions were right on top of each other, and I was willing to have the epidural conversation (sometime around 8:30 p.m.). I wasn't really progressing. I should mention that no one ever encouraged me to get out of bed or change positions other than switching sides. Someone did tell me to go to the bathroom each hour, but I forgot about that when on drugs.
So they placed the epidural maybe around 10:00 (I'm guessing on these times). Once it kicked in, I shook like mad for an hour, my dad sat with me, and a doctor came and told me how glad they all were that I had the epidural and was not in pain anymore.
I think just after they placed it they emptied my bladder. I would guess that an empty bladder, a relaxed mom, the prayers of 2000 people at that worship conference, and it just being time (nearly 18 hours after the beginning of the pit) I did finally dilate the other 5 centimeters (I was told Kent prayed, God let her go 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 baby about that time) and was ready to push. This was back in the day that the epidural removed ALL feeling in the bottom half, so I felt nothing! But I did as I was told and pushed out my baby girl at around 12:30 a.m. She did pass some meconium and so there was a team of folks in the room, but having never had another baby, I didn't know it wasn't normal to have a whole committee present. And they were pleasant and it was fine. My first view of her was a polaroid my husband snapped (that's how long ago it was). My mom was there shooting video, but she's lousy at it, and kept it focused on feet, the floor and the handsome anesthesiologist. Moments later, they handed me my 7 lb 8 oz baby girl.
The surprises were as follows:
The nurses kept calling me "mom".
They kept calling the baby by the name we had given her.
We went into the room as two people and left three.
I had just met this new person who pooped, peed (preferably with the diaper off), sucked, cried and slept (and eventually spit), and I LOVED HER. I loved her like I had never loved anyone or anything. I did not have to learn how to love her. I just did. It was miraculous. Amazing. I was a mom. Just like that.
16 months and 3 weeks later
So-big, 1997
I lost some weight before getting pregnant the second time. In fact, that was the last time I weighed less than 200 lbs. So, of course, I gained a ton and weighed the exact amount when I delivered as I had with #1.
I wanted to not be induced this time. I had heard from a nurse friend about nipple stimulation but frankly it sounded creepy to me. On Saturday morning I had a check up and was at 4 centimeters, had my membranes stripped, and was told they didn't know why I wouldn't have that baby that day. (I was scheduled to be induced on Monday, and just really didn't want to go to church again pregnant) That night, after spending some 'quality time' with my husband, I went down in our small basement, put on some music, walked and followed my friends advice, and had contractions for about 2 hours, 3 minutes apart. I felt pretty good, but they were real. Finally it seemed like we should call the doctor and he, of course, said come on in.
I was nervous, like I'd been cheating, and my contractions slowed on the way there, so I was afraid of being sent home. Some friends met us at the hospital and took Kat home. They admitted me and said I was at 7 or something, so I didn't think I was going home. I was in the bed again, my water broke when the doctor checked me (so I knew I wasn't going home), and HE STARTED PITOCIN, without even asking me or telling me. Granted, my contractions had slowed down, but I was so disappointed, because I had gotten so far with relative comfort.
Looking back, I know that the pit hurt like mad, immediately, because I was already progressed so far - I'm sure it was only on a 2, and just got me moving again. Also, I was in bed instead of walking, and it was transition, after all. After a few contractions, I told my husband to go get her and if I hadn't progressed, I was having an epidural now! (remember, my last experience took a very long time)
She was a very brave, and accurate, nurse, and after checking me, said we would probably have the baby in the next 45 minutes - we did. She immediately set up the baby warmer (THAT was different) and there were no other people in the room, just a nurse or two, a doctor and us, Weird! I won't lie, it hurt, but then, there he was, 9 lb 10 oz, named Joel, meaning God is able.
Surprises:
It was not harder to give birth to a baby who weighed 2 more lbs.
Adding Pitocin when already in labor was very different than starting from nothing.
A baby that nurses all the time will make your milk come in faster.
Having a baby when my body was ready was easier and much faster (4-5 hours) and just way better than the 18 hour induction we had the first time.
I had worried that all that miraculous love I had experienced for my firstborn, that filled my entire being, I was worried that I wouldn't have that for #2. I just couldn't imagine it. I thought, oh, it's too bad for him. Not so. It reminded me of the Grinch who stole Christmas - my heart simply expanded and I somehow loved both in that way I didn't imagine I could love anyone. Unbelievable.
Having closely spaced children, I will add that it is my opinion, when 2 are so close, to put the older child ahead of the younger at times, simply because I never wanted to force my older baby to stop being a baby before she was ready just because she happened to have a brother so close. I didn't want to make her potty train or change beds or whatever before she was ready. I wanted to allow her to be the age she was at the time. I also felt she had more of an ability to remember or feel slighted on the baby's behalf, whereas he didn't know if he'd been crying for 10 seconds or 3 minutes. So if she needed a drink and he needed to nurse, I would get her drink first.
I know life was crazy then, but I think I was crazy enough to just enjoy the moment. I've never been very uptight about keeping my house/room clean, and that value system has worked to the advantage of my sanity, although perhaps not that of my husband. We read a lot, were on the go a lot, watched hardly any tv, and tried to conquer the world. I had a friend who watched the two of them one morning a week, and that was my time to go to Cracker Barrel and do my entire weekly Bible study in 2 hours.
Reflecting on that season, I was pretty cocky, I was working at church 1 day a week, and was trying to protect my husband from how overwhelming life was. I took them wherever I needed to go, grocery shopping, friends' houses, Walmart, road trips. It was the beginning of the adventures of the Amazing Supermom.
And that is the end of my birth stories, part 1.
This time I've been trying to find birth stories of women about to give birth for the eleventh time in 14 years, who weigh over 250 lbs and are nearly 40 years old, with a history of pre-eclampsia or high blood pressure and with the possibility of trisomy 21. Would you believe I've had a hard time finding any? So I'm writing mine, just in case people want to know.
Kat, 1996
I started my first pregnancy overweight and pretty ignorant. I gained a decent amount of weight. I enjoyed it until the end. I had an induction scheduled for 4 days after my due date because my OB suggested it and it never occurred to me not to do it. We took classes through the OB's office, including the epidural class offered by the hospital. My desire was to go as far as I could without an epidural in hopes of having future babies without one. (Incidentally, at that time, my plan was to have 4 babies, 3 years apart.)
So I went in on a Friday morning in early summer, after leading worship at a Kent Henry conference and dancing around the room in full bloom, got all hooked up, didn't know what a contraction was. After a few hours I felt some, and wondered if I would recognize them if I had them at home. For a while it was a fun game, watching them on the monitor, playing cards, with the excitement of knowing we were having our baby that day.
One of the exciting things was that we didn't know if we were having a boy or girl. Names are always very significant to us, and the names we had chosen for our first meant very different things: either Isaac, meaning laughter, or Katherine, meaning pure.
Beyond that, I was in for a huge surprise.
By 1:00 p.m. I was beginning to be uncomfortable, by 4:00 I was on stadol. My opinion of stadol is that it is a not funny joke. It knocks you out between contractions so that all your consciousness is PAIN. And you are loopy so you cannot focus on handling the contractions. My mom and sisters had been with me up till this point, and while I was hallucinating on stadol my dad showed up. So I would wake up to a contraction, want to die, the contraction would end, and I would say, "I dreamed my dad was here, is he here?" They would say yes and I'd pass out again. This process repeated itself for a year and a half.
Eventually the stadol wore off, the contractions were right on top of each other, and I was willing to have the epidural conversation (sometime around 8:30 p.m.). I wasn't really progressing. I should mention that no one ever encouraged me to get out of bed or change positions other than switching sides. Someone did tell me to go to the bathroom each hour, but I forgot about that when on drugs.
So they placed the epidural maybe around 10:00 (I'm guessing on these times). Once it kicked in, I shook like mad for an hour, my dad sat with me, and a doctor came and told me how glad they all were that I had the epidural and was not in pain anymore.
I think just after they placed it they emptied my bladder. I would guess that an empty bladder, a relaxed mom, the prayers of 2000 people at that worship conference, and it just being time (nearly 18 hours after the beginning of the pit) I did finally dilate the other 5 centimeters (I was told Kent prayed, God let her go 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 baby about that time) and was ready to push. This was back in the day that the epidural removed ALL feeling in the bottom half, so I felt nothing! But I did as I was told and pushed out my baby girl at around 12:30 a.m. She did pass some meconium and so there was a team of folks in the room, but having never had another baby, I didn't know it wasn't normal to have a whole committee present. And they were pleasant and it was fine. My first view of her was a polaroid my husband snapped (that's how long ago it was). My mom was there shooting video, but she's lousy at it, and kept it focused on feet, the floor and the handsome anesthesiologist. Moments later, they handed me my 7 lb 8 oz baby girl.
The surprises were as follows:
The nurses kept calling me "mom".
They kept calling the baby by the name we had given her.
We went into the room as two people and left three.
I had just met this new person who pooped, peed (preferably with the diaper off), sucked, cried and slept (and eventually spit), and I LOVED HER. I loved her like I had never loved anyone or anything. I did not have to learn how to love her. I just did. It was miraculous. Amazing. I was a mom. Just like that.
16 months and 3 weeks later
So-big, 1997
I lost some weight before getting pregnant the second time. In fact, that was the last time I weighed less than 200 lbs. So, of course, I gained a ton and weighed the exact amount when I delivered as I had with #1.
I wanted to not be induced this time. I had heard from a nurse friend about nipple stimulation but frankly it sounded creepy to me. On Saturday morning I had a check up and was at 4 centimeters, had my membranes stripped, and was told they didn't know why I wouldn't have that baby that day. (I was scheduled to be induced on Monday, and just really didn't want to go to church again pregnant) That night, after spending some 'quality time' with my husband, I went down in our small basement, put on some music, walked and followed my friends advice, and had contractions for about 2 hours, 3 minutes apart. I felt pretty good, but they were real. Finally it seemed like we should call the doctor and he, of course, said come on in.
I was nervous, like I'd been cheating, and my contractions slowed on the way there, so I was afraid of being sent home. Some friends met us at the hospital and took Kat home. They admitted me and said I was at 7 or something, so I didn't think I was going home. I was in the bed again, my water broke when the doctor checked me (so I knew I wasn't going home), and HE STARTED PITOCIN, without even asking me or telling me. Granted, my contractions had slowed down, but I was so disappointed, because I had gotten so far with relative comfort.
Looking back, I know that the pit hurt like mad, immediately, because I was already progressed so far - I'm sure it was only on a 2, and just got me moving again. Also, I was in bed instead of walking, and it was transition, after all. After a few contractions, I told my husband to go get her and if I hadn't progressed, I was having an epidural now! (remember, my last experience took a very long time)
She was a very brave, and accurate, nurse, and after checking me, said we would probably have the baby in the next 45 minutes - we did. She immediately set up the baby warmer (THAT was different) and there were no other people in the room, just a nurse or two, a doctor and us, Weird! I won't lie, it hurt, but then, there he was, 9 lb 10 oz, named Joel, meaning God is able.
Surprises:
It was not harder to give birth to a baby who weighed 2 more lbs.
Adding Pitocin when already in labor was very different than starting from nothing.
A baby that nurses all the time will make your milk come in faster.
Having a baby when my body was ready was easier and much faster (4-5 hours) and just way better than the 18 hour induction we had the first time.
I had worried that all that miraculous love I had experienced for my firstborn, that filled my entire being, I was worried that I wouldn't have that for #2. I just couldn't imagine it. I thought, oh, it's too bad for him. Not so. It reminded me of the Grinch who stole Christmas - my heart simply expanded and I somehow loved both in that way I didn't imagine I could love anyone. Unbelievable.
Having closely spaced children, I will add that it is my opinion, when 2 are so close, to put the older child ahead of the younger at times, simply because I never wanted to force my older baby to stop being a baby before she was ready just because she happened to have a brother so close. I didn't want to make her potty train or change beds or whatever before she was ready. I wanted to allow her to be the age she was at the time. I also felt she had more of an ability to remember or feel slighted on the baby's behalf, whereas he didn't know if he'd been crying for 10 seconds or 3 minutes. So if she needed a drink and he needed to nurse, I would get her drink first.
I know life was crazy then, but I think I was crazy enough to just enjoy the moment. I've never been very uptight about keeping my house/room clean, and that value system has worked to the advantage of my sanity, although perhaps not that of my husband. We read a lot, were on the go a lot, watched hardly any tv, and tried to conquer the world. I had a friend who watched the two of them one morning a week, and that was my time to go to Cracker Barrel and do my entire weekly Bible study in 2 hours.
Reflecting on that season, I was pretty cocky, I was working at church 1 day a week, and was trying to protect my husband from how overwhelming life was. I took them wherever I needed to go, grocery shopping, friends' houses, Walmart, road trips. It was the beginning of the adventures of the Amazing Supermom.
And that is the end of my birth stories, part 1.
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