We arrived at triage, I was hooked up to monitors and the nurse told me that my doctor was looking for me - I actually had an appointment with him scheduled for that morning, but it was immediately cancelled when I told the receptionist that I was in labor and wasn't sure if I should still come in. Her answer was a resounding, "No. Go to the hospital!" The triage nurse wasn't satisfied with the readings she was getting from the baby. She only said that he wasn't doing what she wanted him to do (whatever that meant) and that she needed to contact my doctor, who would probably suggest I stay in the hospital for monitoring. When she returned from calling my doctor and looked at the readings again, apparently my son had decided to cooperate (he was like this during the entire pregnancy, doing things on his own time and only complying at the last minute,) and she was happy with what she saw and sent us home. I asked if it was okay to eat a full meal, because I was starving! I was given the thumbs up and my husband and I picked up some scrumptious burgers on the way home (hey, it was probably going to be my last meal before the baby arrived!).
The rest of the evening into the entire next day, I labored through contractions, still irregular in frequency and length, but definitely much stronger. Finally by evening, after hours of sway dancing, and walking up and down the halls of our apartment building and almost throwing up, the contractions were finally close enough and long enough to justify returning to the hospital.
Back in triage, the nurse checked my cervix. I was only 2 cm dilated, 80% effaced, and I kept thinking, "That's it?" The pain was surely going to get worse, I was probably just at the beginning of active labor, and I was already exhausted and feeling my resolve buckle under the pain I had already experienced. After hacking into a bowl, the nurse asked if I was going to get an epidural, and without skipping a beat, I answered, "Yes." My back was killing me and I was just done, I wanted relief. I was assigned a birthing room and the anesthesiologist came with surprising speed. He gave me the shot in my back and I remember thinking to myself, "I don't regret this epidural." And it was important for me to tell myself that, because I am very hard on myself, and I suspect that somewhere in my brain, I equated getting an epidural with "selling out" or "giving up", that it was a show of strength to birth naturally. But I did what was best for me. And it was, my back pain was gone and I could finally sleep after 2 days of laboring (as could my husband). In the middle of the night, the nurse checked my cervix and broke my water, and discovered meconium. I remained calm about this. I went back to sleep, diligently making sure to switch sides every hour or so as was advised.
Morning arrived without incident. The nurse checked my cervix again. She said I hadn't progressed past 7 centimeters and that, again, the baby's readings weren't exactly what they wanted to see, although he wasn't showing any signs of stress. I think he was just a little quiet. The doctor on call plus my own doctor (who wasn't on the schedule but came in anyway to deliver my son) suggested waiting another 2 hours to see if I dilated more. If I didn't, they suggested performing a C-section. I think my calm assent surprised the nurse. I wasn't opposed to a C-section, perhaps because I myself was a C-section baby. And perhaps indicative of the times when C-sections weren't as frequent as they are now (and I do see this frequency as questionable), being a "Caesarean baby" made me feel special. When I was a kid and I told people that my brother and I were both caesarean babies, the reaction was usually one of surprise and awe. This was the 1970s. Today of course it is different, but that is another story. Pertinent to my birth story, I had made peace with the possibility of a C-section. I just wanted to meet my baby and I wanted him to be healthy.
After staying stuck at 7 centimeters, the doctors decided to perform a caesarian. I got surprisingly quiet and still. They asked me to take off all my jewelry. I couldn't get my wedding off my swollen finger, and I didn't even know how to take my nose ring out, so those stayed put. They put a cap on my head, which over my incredible mess of hair felt absolutely ridiculous. I was so quiet, the nurses asked if I was okay with everything. I assured them I was. I am not even sure what my quietness was about. I think there was trepidation about the operation. I know there was excitement about finally meeting my son. I think there was awe about the immensity of parenthood and the change my life was about to undergo. The scale of emotion was so huge that all I could do to honor it was to stay still and quiet.
I was immediately whisked into the O.R. and moved onto the narrowest table I could have imagined, with my arms extended out to the side, as if on a cross, which was the strangest feeling. The anesthesiologist stood right by my head to assure me that all would be well. My husband was on the other side of my head, video camera in hand for the big moment. The anesthesiologist asked if I could feel anything and I said I didn't. But then seconds later, I told him that I did in fact feel pain and I heard my doctor tell me to hold on for a few more seconds and my baby would be out. I hadn't realized that they had already started the surgery! Sure, I'll endure the pain for a few more seconds, my baby is on his way?!?! Then the doctor prompted my husband to get the camera ready and I heard my husband say the baby had a lot of hair and then sure enough my son was out and I heard a little cry, which immediately broke my heart. My husband said he looked just like me. He moved the curtain so that I could see the baby, and he was so cute and tiny. It was just too surreal. I was sure that I was going to be that new mom who completely loses herself in a bucket of tears at the sight of her new baby, but it was so much bigger than I could process, I just stayed quiet again. They brought him up to my face so that I could kiss him, and he was just so cute and I couldn't believe that he was really here with us. Then the baby and my husband went up to the natal area and I was wheeled back to my room, where I fell asleep until they brought my son back to me. It wasn't a long separation, and once my husband and son returned to the room, we stayed put as a family for 3 days. And I have to say it was a pleasure. The room was cozy, the staff was very accommodating and attentive, and my son and I were able to bond in private.
The rest of the evening into the entire next day, I labored through contractions, still irregular in frequency and length, but definitely much stronger. Finally by evening, after hours of sway dancing, and walking up and down the halls of our apartment building and almost throwing up, the contractions were finally close enough and long enough to justify returning to the hospital.
Back in triage, the nurse checked my cervix. I was only 2 cm dilated, 80% effaced, and I kept thinking, "That's it?" The pain was surely going to get worse, I was probably just at the beginning of active labor, and I was already exhausted and feeling my resolve buckle under the pain I had already experienced. After hacking into a bowl, the nurse asked if I was going to get an epidural, and without skipping a beat, I answered, "Yes." My back was killing me and I was just done, I wanted relief. I was assigned a birthing room and the anesthesiologist came with surprising speed. He gave me the shot in my back and I remember thinking to myself, "I don't regret this epidural." And it was important for me to tell myself that, because I am very hard on myself, and I suspect that somewhere in my brain, I equated getting an epidural with "selling out" or "giving up", that it was a show of strength to birth naturally. But I did what was best for me. And it was, my back pain was gone and I could finally sleep after 2 days of laboring (as could my husband). In the middle of the night, the nurse checked my cervix and broke my water, and discovered meconium. I remained calm about this. I went back to sleep, diligently making sure to switch sides every hour or so as was advised.
Morning arrived without incident. The nurse checked my cervix again. She said I hadn't progressed past 7 centimeters and that, again, the baby's readings weren't exactly what they wanted to see, although he wasn't showing any signs of stress. I think he was just a little quiet. The doctor on call plus my own doctor (who wasn't on the schedule but came in anyway to deliver my son) suggested waiting another 2 hours to see if I dilated more. If I didn't, they suggested performing a C-section. I think my calm assent surprised the nurse. I wasn't opposed to a C-section, perhaps because I myself was a C-section baby. And perhaps indicative of the times when C-sections weren't as frequent as they are now (and I do see this frequency as questionable), being a "Caesarean baby" made me feel special. When I was a kid and I told people that my brother and I were both caesarean babies, the reaction was usually one of surprise and awe. This was the 1970s. Today of course it is different, but that is another story. Pertinent to my birth story, I had made peace with the possibility of a C-section. I just wanted to meet my baby and I wanted him to be healthy.
After staying stuck at 7 centimeters, the doctors decided to perform a caesarian. I got surprisingly quiet and still. They asked me to take off all my jewelry. I couldn't get my wedding off my swollen finger, and I didn't even know how to take my nose ring out, so those stayed put. They put a cap on my head, which over my incredible mess of hair felt absolutely ridiculous. I was so quiet, the nurses asked if I was okay with everything. I assured them I was. I am not even sure what my quietness was about. I think there was trepidation about the operation. I know there was excitement about finally meeting my son. I think there was awe about the immensity of parenthood and the change my life was about to undergo. The scale of emotion was so huge that all I could do to honor it was to stay still and quiet.
I was immediately whisked into the O.R. and moved onto the narrowest table I could have imagined, with my arms extended out to the side, as if on a cross, which was the strangest feeling. The anesthesiologist stood right by my head to assure me that all would be well. My husband was on the other side of my head, video camera in hand for the big moment. The anesthesiologist asked if I could feel anything and I said I didn't. But then seconds later, I told him that I did in fact feel pain and I heard my doctor tell me to hold on for a few more seconds and my baby would be out. I hadn't realized that they had already started the surgery! Sure, I'll endure the pain for a few more seconds, my baby is on his way?!?! Then the doctor prompted my husband to get the camera ready and I heard my husband say the baby had a lot of hair and then sure enough my son was out and I heard a little cry, which immediately broke my heart. My husband said he looked just like me. He moved the curtain so that I could see the baby, and he was so cute and tiny. It was just too surreal. I was sure that I was going to be that new mom who completely loses herself in a bucket of tears at the sight of her new baby, but it was so much bigger than I could process, I just stayed quiet again. They brought him up to my face so that I could kiss him, and he was just so cute and I couldn't believe that he was really here with us. Then the baby and my husband went up to the natal area and I was wheeled back to my room, where I fell asleep until they brought my son back to me. It wasn't a long separation, and once my husband and son returned to the room, we stayed put as a family for 3 days. And I have to say it was a pleasure. The room was cozy, the staff was very accommodating and attentive, and my son and I were able to bond in private.
