The last week or so before I gave birth were very awkward. Except for a few weeks of intense hip and back pain, my pregnancy had been very comfortable. Even well into the ninth month, I was feeling good and getting around without a problem. Then the 37th week came, and I was training a class alone in tight quarters. I had to constantly be on my feet and try to squeeze between rows to see trainees' computer screens. By the end of the week, I was crampy and achy. I wasn't sleeping well. I was stressed with last-minute projects and ready to be done with pregnancy.
I could tell the baby was low, because I was getting shooting pains in my bladder area. My Braxton-Hicks contractions were nearly constant. Still I assumed I would go till near my due date. Then on Thursday, October 7th, I am pretty sure I lost my mucus plug. It's hard to really know, but it seemed like that's what it was. Still that could mean a few more hours, days, or weeks. I kept chugging along.
I went to work as usual on Friday, October 8th, and attended a 9:00 a.m. team meeting. Soon I felt a different type of ache that was distinctive though not yet overly painful and it shot down the front of my legs. I recognized that squeezing ache and was pretty sure this was it. I glanced at the clock and noted the length and time between my contractions. I took notes in tiny numbers in the corner of my notepad.
The contractions were getting stronger and a bit more painful during a meeting I had at 10:00 a.m. in my office. A teammate was explaining a complicated process to set up a computer simulation. I was confused about what he was talking about, but I also was wrapped up in my escalating contractions. I tried to follow along as I kept my eye on the clock.
Shortly after he left, I called T, told him it was time to head home, and packed up. At home, I ate a small lunch and packed bags for myself and the boys. They were at the sitter's house, and the plan was for my parents to come retrieve them and take them home.
We sat in the living room and waited. T slept and I watched TV. Around 1:30, the contractions were close together and quite strong. We got in the car and headed for St. Mary's Hospital. On the way, they were getting closer together, and I was wishing we had left half an hour earlier.
We pulled up to the front of the hospital, and T spoke to the valet. I self-consciously leaned against a pillar and breathed through a contraction. I could feel people staring at me. I would be too I suppose.
It was a long, painful walk to the birth center. The receptionist mercifully was quick checking us in. They led me to a triage area, though I wished we could have just skipped that portion and headed for the delivery room. I was sure I was in labor! The nurse kept questioning how I was so calm. Especially after they found I was seven centimeters dilated and 80% effaced. It was my third time around after all. I knew the drill. And that's just how I operate. I am not a dramatic person. You won't hear me screaming and cursing during labor, even if I am struggling inside.
When they finally determined I was actually in labor, I walked to the delivery room. My contractions were extremely strong and about every minute or so. I flopped on my side on the hospital bed, and declared I was going to throw up. I did just that, twice, in blue bags they handed me. Then I was ready to push. The nurse told me I was nine and a half centimeters and should breathe through the next contraction and then I would be ten centimeters and ready to go.
The pain was intense of course. I would feel a beginning ache in my lower abdomen signaling and oncoming contraction. Then the squeezing would take over, I would be compelled to bear down, and the front of my thighs would seize up in pain. At the same time, I knew it was all downhill from where I was. The most painful part is the "transition phase" right before you push. I was past that. Now I just had to push her out. My doctor had now arrived and a few nurses and a resident were crowded around me. T hovered nervously in the background snapping pictures. "It won't be long now," my doctor said.
But it would be. I pushed and pushed and pushed. Nothing seemed to be changing. This was very different from giving birth to R when I could distinctly feel the slow but steady progress. This time I was pushing with all my might and nothing seemed to be happening. They weren't telling me they could see the top of her head. They weren't telling me anything really.
The nurse talked me into various positions. I was laying down and on my side and then half squatting. She tried to get me on all fours, but I collapsed on my face in pain. That wasn't working. An hour passed. I kept my eyes tightly closed for the most part but when I did crack them open, I noticed everyone was gone except one nurse. I felt very discouraged. Obviously they didn't feel like the birth was imminent.
During the contractions my hips and legs would cramp up in agonizing pain. I desperately wanted to stretch them out, but they told me to just keep pushing. My legs were shaking and hurt very much between contractions when I tried to straighten them. Something didn't feel right.
An hour and a half had passed. I was getting desperately tired, frustrated, and discouraged. I asked the nurse what my options were. "Something is not working," I said. She described other positions I could try. I told T I was ready to consider a c-section. My primary care physician came to my side and said surgery was a last resort.
Of course it was, I thought. I had not planned to have surgery, and wanted a natural, intervention-free birth. But something was wrong. I was a strong, fit person, and I had pushed out two babies before including R who was hefty and possessed a melon head. Why couldn't I push out this baby?
My doctor went to call the OB-GYN on duty. Being a primary care physician, she didn't perform surgery. The nurse started to monitor the baby more closely. She kept placing the monitor on my lower belly, but wasn't getting an accurate reading. "We need to put a forehead monitor on her," she explained and began the painful process of affixing that.
The loud tones of the baby's heart rate filled the room. They skipped along quickly at around 150 beats per minute. "Here comes one," I said as I felt a contraction beginning and got into position to push. The heart rate tones suddenly slowed to a sickening pace. They lagged to 40 beats per minute at most.
Things happened very quickly then. I was in an exhausted, painful fog, but the nurse hurriedly explained the baby was not tolerating the contractions, and I would need a c-section. Hallelujah! I thought. I was desperate for this to be over.
They strapped oxygen across my face, slid an IV into the veins in my hand to give me fluids, and gave me a shot in my leg to slow contractions. It did not seem to have any effect. The contractions marched on every other minute, stronger than ever. The nurse told me to try not to push. That was nearly impossible. She told me to try to breathe slowly and deeply. I laid on my side gripping the bars of the hospital bed and endured.
Soon the OB-GYN was on her way. The nurses helped me make the seemingly momentous move to another hospital bed so I could be wheeled to the operating room. My body at this point was shaking uncontrollably and violently. It was an odd sensation to not be able to control it. I kept my eyes tightly closed and anxiously awaited sedation. What a relief that would be!
T was told he couldn't be in the room and would have to wait in the recovery room. I was told I would have to go under general anesthesia. Once under the bright lights of the operating room, I opened my eyes a tiny slit and looked around. I saw several people in gowns and masks hurrying around me barking commands. It was surreal.
I was shaking every harder now and my contractions were still intense. I worried about the little girl struggling in my belly. What was taking so long? The anesthesiologist was working over my head and asking me questions to which I tried to whisper responses. Was I allergic to anything? Had I had bad reactions to anesthesia in the past?
They uncovered my belly and started cleaning it and swirling iodine around it. I was still wide awake. I had the brief flash of fear that they would start cutting in to me before I was under anesthesia. My legs were strapped down, and I couldn't curl up or bear down to find relief from my contractions. My body was shaking violently. I felt utterly out of control of my muscles.
"When you wake up, you'll have a baby," someone said.
"Time to go to sleep," the voice over my head added. Finally.
--MM
No comments:
Post a Comment