Labor Day

Now that my life has “wound down” somewhat, I want to share my labor story. I want to preface this by saying that my experience was unique because I had a large baby and no one expected this at all. (Well, no one expected him to be THAT large.)

Also, if you truly would rather remain blissfully oblivious, don’t read any further.

7 AM: The hub and I arrive with anticipation and nervousness to the hospital for my inducement. We brought muffins for the staff thinking that we’ll get better treatment if we do, but now I don’t think it made a difference. The nurses usher me to my room to disrobe and unpack.

8 AM: The nurse to attended to me the Friday before is our nurse, which works out great because we liked her. I lie on the bed, she hooks me up to all the machines and tells me that I’m still contracting from the week before. I was surprised because the menstruating cramping feeling seemed to have slowed down over the weekend.

“I’m going to start the Pitocin slowly and we’ll go from there,” the nurse says.

We go over some logistical stuff such as my birth plan (”Good plan, guys,” she says.) and she tells me, “It’s never too early or late to ask for the epidural.” I think this is her hint to tell me not to be a hero.

Another nurse inserts the IV needle and it hurts like a mother. I wonder how I will even stand labor.

10 AM: I snooze on and off, waiting for things to begin. The hub goes to get me ice chips since that’s all I can have. The nurse asks me how contractions are going and I tell her it’s the same menstruating feeling. She asks what level of pain from 1-10 and I say, “Four.” She says, “Okay, I’m upping it.” She asks me again awhile later and I tell her it’s around six. So she ups the Pitocin.

12 PM: I start to feel stronger contractions. Bad. Real bad. They are very similar to the false ones I experienced a few weeks go, except they’re not going away. The hub and I try the “hee hee hooo” that we learned in childbirth class, but it proves very difficult to do because the pain is so bad, I can’t breathe properly and I’m crying like someone is stabbing me from the back to the front of my body. The best description I can give about contractions is that it feels like a combination of the worst stomach virus you have ever had (I’m talking food poisoning level here) and super bad cramps. The nurse comes to check up on me and asks my pain level.

“Eight,” I tell her in between tears.

“Don’t hold your breath,” she tells me. This is hard to do because the only thing you want to do with pain that bad is hold your breath. “Keep your eyes focused on something.” I do this even though I think it doesn’t help at all. She tells me to instead take a deep breath and breathe out, instead of the hee hee hoo. I think her method is a lot better and I realize how useless that childbirth class was.

“Do you think you want the epidural?” she asks.

“Is it too soon?” I ask.

“Let’s just say it won’t get better from here on.”

12:30-1 PM: The anesthesiologist arrives. On the inside, I’m freaking out because I know he’s sticking a needle into my spine. He explains to me what he’ll be doing. He tells me to sit on the bed and face the hub with my hands on his shoulders.

“I’m giving you local anesthesia,” the anesthesiologist tells me. “It’s probably the most painful part.” Indeed, it is painful. I squeeze the hub’s shoulders and cry. “Let me know if you feel something wrong, okay?” the anesthesiologist says. Then I feel this prick and cold needle going into my back. Then a tingly sensation down my right leg.

“I feel something!” I yelp.

“Is it pain?” the anesthesiologist asks.

“Um, no. Tingly down my leg, ” I say.

“Oh, that’s normal.”

They lie me down and show me how to “up” the epidural when I need it. I feel a cold sensation down my back, which is no doubt the drug doing its work. The contractions subside.

“Anymore pain?” the anesthesiologist asks.

“No,” I tell him,

“Great, then my job is done.”

The whole experience is less than 15 minutes.

1-3 PM: Because I can’t feel anything below my waist, the nurse inserts a catheter. I had no idea I would need one and again, this is something I didn’t learn in childbirth class. I wouldn’t have changed my mind about getting an epidural if I had known, but the thought of a catheter makes me uneasy.

I doze on and off some more as we wait for me to dilate further. My OB finally arrives and checks me down there. “Four cm!” she says. “Let’s wait a bit more.”

Although I keep “upping” the epidural, I still feel some light pain. I tell the hub and he goes to get the nurse. She calls the lead anesthesiologist in who finds out that the epidural machine hasn’t been working. She gets me a new one and that’s when all the pain goes away and I firmly believe that the epidural is one of the world’s greatest inventions.

I feel a gush of liquid come out of my vajayjay. “I think my water broke!” I yell to the hub. We call the nurse.

She comes and takes a look. “Hmm, could be, but I’m going to double-check.” She uses a big q-tip swab and dabs it in my vajayjay. “If your water did break, the swab will turn black.” It doesn’t.

“What is that?” I ask. “I was so sure it was my water because it felt like a gush.”

“It’s probably just mucus.”

“That’s a lot of mucus!”

“Go get some lunch,” I tell the hub. “I don’t want you to faint during labor.” I’m surprisingly not even hungry even though all I’ve had are ice chips and sugar free candy.

3 PM: My OB comes to check up on me again. “Four cm still!” she says. “Let’s go ahead and break your water.”

“Uh, okay,” I say.

She shows me the big crochet-like looking needle she’ll use to break my water, which we were shown in our childbirth class. At least I learned that.

I feel a “pop” but no pain and a gush of water.

“We’ll see how that goes,” my OB says.

Suddenly, I start to feel the baby moving down my lower back. It’s a very strange feeling. I can’t describe it, but you know when it happens. And I start feeling lots of pressure. It’s not the same feeling as when you have to pee, but it just feels like something pushing down your pelvis.

The nurse comes to check up on me and I tell her about the pressure. “Oooh, the baby’s coming!” she says. A short time later, my OB comes to check on me.

“Wow, seven cm!” she says. This is about 15 minutes after she broke my water. “The baby’s coming! He’s ready! I’m getting the nurse to get you to start pushing.”

I am officially freaked out.

4-6 PM: The hub saunters in from lunch and I yell, “They broke my water! I’m seven cm! The baby’s coming!”

“Whaaaa—?!” he yelps.

Against my advice, the hub calls his parents to let them know that I’m labor. We had decided not to let them know in advance because they would probably show up despite our wishes that they not and irritate the shit out of me. I don’t need the additional stress.

The nurse starts putting on all these disposable sheets under me, bringing in various tools, and prepping. She starts massaging my perineum.

My OB stops in again to check. “I feel his head!” she smiles. “We’re going to get you to start pushing.”

“How long do you think it will take?” I ask.

“It depends. Some people, it’s only 30 mins and others, 2 1/2 hours.”

“2 1/2 hours!” I cry.

“You should be okay. You dilated pretty quickly.”

6-9 PM: The nurse starts to help me push. She explains to me that I will take a deep breath, push as hard as possible, a normal breath, push, normal breath, and push. We’ll repeat this process. She tells the hub to hold on to one of my legs and she’ll hold the other. I don’t think the hub expected that.

I start pushing and the hub and nurse encourage me. “I can see his head!” the nurse tells me. “He has hair!”

I push some more, the nurse massages my perineum. “Did they tell you how big the baby is?” she asks.

“Well, they told me he would be big. He was already 6 lbs 9 oz at 35 weeks.”

“Hmm, I think he’s going to be an eight pounder.”

I push and push and the nurse keeps telling me she can see his head and that I’m almost there.

“Do you want some ice chips?” the hub asks. I shake my head no. He asks me this between each pause we take pushing. I glare at him.

Unfortunately, located right in front of my face is the clock and I’m sorely disappointed that I’ve been pushing for an hour. The nurse decides to get this round bar that fits over the bed for me to hold on to as I push, thinking some gravity might help ease the baby out. I try this, but am too weak in the arms to keep myself up. However, we keep it to place my feet as I push.

“Do you want to take a break?” my OB asks. At this point, we’re heading towards two hours of pushing.

“No,” I say. I really want this kid out.

“How are you feeling? How’s your stamina?”

I’m not out of breath or sweating, so I tell her that I just want to keep going. I’m afraid if I stop, I’ll lose momentum. My nurse’s shift is over and a new nurse arrives, but the nurse who has been with me all day decides to stay. “I want to see what this baby looks like!” she says.

At this point, I’m really in a bad mood. The hub keeps asking me if I want ice chips and I almost scream, “I don’t want any freakin’ ice chips! If I want ice chips, I’ll ask! Stop talking!” Instead, I decide to reserve my energy and just glare at him. The nurse gives him this look like, “Shut the heck up if you know what’s good for you.” I think he finally gets the hint.

During this process, many things run through my mind. I tell myself that I will never have another child. That I’ll never have sex again. That labor is the worst torture I have ever experienced. That I will kick the hub in the balls later for not keeping his mouth shut about the ice chips. That my son should bear my last name because I am doing all this work and it’s not fair that the hub does nothing but annoy the heck out of me.

“I want my last name as part of his middle name,” I tell the hub.

“Huh?” the hub is slightly taken aback. “Uh, okay. But what does it mean?”

I give him the look of death and he shuts up.

We are nearing 2 1/2 hours and I can’t believe it. Every time I push, my OB and nurse tell me they can see the baby’s head and just to push a little more. Everyone keeps encouraging me. Then my OB says, “Well, you’re pretty swollen. I don’t think he’s going to come out without some assistance. How would you feel about the vacuum?”

We had learned about the vacuum in childbirth class, and without hesitation, the hub and I both say, “Do it.” The vacuum is small and minor –  I had no reservations about its use.

“When we use it, we have to get the pediatricians on call to check the baby immediately after he’s born,” my OB tells me. This means I can’t put him on my chest right away — which is unplanned — but I have learned that labor is always a very unplanned process. My OB starts to show us how the vacuum functions but we cut her short telling her we know how it works. Let’s get this sucker out.

“Okay, when tell you to push, you push,” she says. With two big heave hos, the vacuum on the baby’s head, my OB with one leg against the bed and pulling, Peyton is finally out of me at 8:37 PM! My OB clears his nose and he lets out a big WAAAAAAAAAAH!

I start to cry — partly because he’s finally out of me and partly because I can’t believe I’m finally meeting my son!

The hub cuts the umbilical cord and they sweep Peyton away to be checked out. I tell the hub to follow Peyton while my OB takes care of me. I have to admit, I am wondering if I’ve torn.

This is when it all gets a little hazy for me and I can’t really remember what happens because I am so dog tired, there’s the bustle of doctors checking out Peyton, Peyton crying, and my OB finishing things up.

Then the doctors weigh him and say, “9 lbs 4 oz!” The room goes quiet and my nurse gasps. My OB mutters, “Wow, I didn’t think he’d be that big.” The hub lets out, “Holy crap.”

My nurse is crying and hugs me, “Congratulations!”

Peyton is fine despite a conehead. Peyton is all bundled up and the hub brings him over, so that I can hold him. I start crying uncontrollably. (I’m starting to cry as I type this. It’s still so emotional!) Peyton’s eyes are wide open and he stares at me. It’s so amazing.

9 PM – 1 AM: The pediatricians leave and we are left with Peyton, the new nurse, and my OB. The new nurse comes in and announces, “You have visitors.”

“Visitors?” the hub and I say.

“Yes, a Chinese couple.”

“Your parents!!!!!!” I yell at the hub.

“Don’t let them in!” we tell the nurse.

My OB is “fixing” me up and I ask if I tore. “Yes, not too bad,” she says. “It’s not bad at all.” I want to ask for more details when my mother-in-law walks in and says, “Is the baby ready?”

If I were mobile, I would have thrown something at her. Why is this woman coming in when I’m getting stitched up? I am beyond just pissed! This is the first of many times that my in-laws have violated our boundaries. I tell her politely to get the heck out of my face, although now that I reflect on this moment, I should’ve really just screamed like a banshee.

Peyton has to go to the nursery to get cleaned up and all that good stuff, and I tell the hub to accompany him.

(Later, the hub asks about me pushing the placenta and I honestly don’t remember that because I was so preoccupied with Peyton. I vaguely remember my OB pushing down on my stomach for a bit, but that’s it. All I know is it freaking took her a lot longer than I thought to stitch me up and I kept wondering if it was just one big mess down there.)

“Well, we didn’t exactly follow your birth plan!” my OB says. “But I think everything worked out.”

This part becomes kinda hazy. I think because I was so tired. I don’t remember my OB leaving or what she said. I do remember the new nurse cleaning up and bringing me some food, which was so nice of her.

“I’m sure you’re starving,” she says and gives me a sandwich and fruit. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything else. Do you want something to drink?” I tell her I’d like some juice and she brings me this half liter box of apple juice, which I pretty much finish as I wait for the hub to return.

“We’re going to have to take out the epidural and catheter,” the nurse tells me. “And then I’ll take you to your room in the Mother and Baby ward.”

“What? Already?” I panic about the epidural being taken out. I’m just imagining the pain hitting me.

“You’ll get some painkillers,” she reassures me, but I’m not!

She helps me into a wheelchair and my legs are like jelly. “You’ll get them back when the epidural wears off.”

We wait for the hub to return and he says they’ll bring Peyton to our room. When we arrive, it’s 1 AM and I feel like I haven’t slept in years. At this point, I would categorize as entering the recovery stage, which is another blog post. I will write about that soon. It is not pretty.