Tuesday, March 31, 2015

There were two things I was not expecting on March 25, to have a baby on my due date (I’ve been induced twice) and to get the worse cold I’ve had in at least three years.  So I got sick instead of having a baby.  By Saturday, after a long, frustrating, fruitless search for an urgent care  just in case this nastiness was a sinus infection, I decided I was finally on the mend enough to not waste two hours waiting at the only “urgent” there actually is in this town and went grocery shopping with my mom.

David was starting to come down with the sickness so Saturday night we just kept it low key, Ezra was not feeling great either so after a movie we went to bed early.  Because Ezra was not feeling well, I rocked him to sleep and stayed with him, usually he falls asleep and I transfer him to his bed, but every time I tried to transfer him, he work up.  I could tell he was feeling yucky so I didn’t fight it and snuggled with him, first in the rocking chair and then in our bed.  Only problem, I kept having to pee.  Even more so than usual.  Like EVERY hour.  Up and down the stairs.  And EVERY time I got up, Ezra had a meltdown.  I was trying so hard not to disturbed David, I really wanted him to get well.  About midnight I started to suspect I was having contractions but they were ignorable.  Though the trips back up the stairs did start getting a little more painful.  At about five am I couldn’t just breath through them and fall back asleep, I woke David up and asked him to bring Ezra down to my mom and told him I was either having contractions or some serious gas.  I breathed through some contractions on my hands and knees, a few on my side and then decided to break out my app and time them.  Two minutes apart. Well then.  I should text my doula.  “I don’t know what, but I think something is going on.”  David starting timing them and got the same results.  Close but short.  Two minutes apart, but less than a minute.  I decided it was time to go downstairs, because I had to pee…again.  Screw the toilet I got in the shower.  These babies were talking to me.  LOUD.  Full attention demanded (missed warning I was headed into transition)

Standing in the shower felt good, but I also had a moment of panic (another missed sign)  “what if I have babies like Dee (a college roommate who has very short labors and funny stories about them), I won’t have time to get to the hospital?!” out of the shower, nightgown  back on.  Underwear.

No, whatever, where the heck is my yoga ball.  At some point during this time, David is packing his bag to go to the hospital.  Taking. His. Sweet. Time.  (mind you, I have given him NO indication that I am charging towards transition at this point, calming sitting on my yoga ball by the couch thinking to myself, “seriously pain medication, why I am so anti pain medication?”).

Texting Douala.  Can you come to the house?  Suggesting to David, lets get the car loaded, take mom’s car, she already told me we could, keys are down stairs.  PLEASE don’t make me talk during this contraction (another missed warning sign perhaps)  maybe we should not wait for Anne (our doula).

Texting Anne, “let’s meet at the hospital instead”

Why is he moving so slow.

Going to the car.  Pause.  Bend over and breathe.  Get in the car.

OK we are moving now.  And my contractions are right on top of each other.  My water is going to break in my mom’s new car and she is not going to be happy.  Did I not say put a towel and a trash bag down?

That stop sign is so stupid.

In the sweet privacy of the car I start the guttural, primitive moan thing and the light bulb goes on for David.  This baby is coming soon.  He drops me off at the ER door and I start the trek.  I stopped at the ER window and held up a finger to the triage guy.

“I’m headed that way” I mouthed, pointing down the hall towards labor and delivery.   I have two minutes once this contraction stops.  Start walking.

David catches up with me as I’m ringing the bell, “can I come in and have a baby”  when did talking get so hard?

They let me in I made it down the hall.  They told me room five.  I’m pretty sure I am going to die, or have a baby in the hallway.  Made it to room five and she wants to put a monitor on me and check me.  Its not that I’m not being oppositional really, I can’t unbend.

Yes, we have a birth plan. In the car. No, we don’t have documentation about intermittent monitoring on file.

I am trying so hard to relax.  Somehow I manage to get on the bed.  She checks me.

I’m a nine.  But that stupid cervical lip strikes again.  “don’t push, if things get swollen you might have to have a c section”

So I didn’t push.  Honestly, honestly didn’t push.

Water breaks.

David is laughing, baby is crying, nurses are scurrying.  She gets put on my chest and we both laugh.  

Dr. Mini is on her way.

So I delivered a placenta and Anne arrived, David smiling and chuckling watching as she processed the placenta on the table.  Anne stayed with me for the worst part,  what happens after you don’t push out a baby when your dilated to a nine (at this point I really, really, really wanted the epidural).

My arrival time was noted at 6:55 am, Joy was born at 7:11 am.  Me, David and one nurse in the room.