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My due date was June 26th, and since I had Piper three days late, I was fully preparing myself to go late with this one too. I knew that first babies were more often late though, so I pretty much viewed the second time as a crap-shoot, and prepped myself to deliver anywhere from three weeks early, to two weeks late. This pregnancy had been a bit harder than my first, with more aches and pains, more morning sicknesss, and a whole lot more fatigue, so as we approached the finish line, I was much more anxious for it to be over than I had been the first time around. With Piper, I think I subconsciously knew she was going to be late. I wasn't overly uncomfortable (though I'm not sure how comfortable you can be when you're nine and a half months pregnant...) and when people looked shocked that I was still at work even in the days leading up to my due date, I didn't share the sentiment. I just figured I was going to be late (maybe I was holding out for the 11/11/11 birthday I wanted to give her!) so I was relatively content to wait it out.
This time, it was a whole different ballgame. One of my main fears after having such a big first baby, was history repeating itself, and having to deal with another giant kid, and the recovery aftermath that goes with it. My doctors assured me I probably wasn't carrying a huge baby, but they had said the same thing the first time, so I wasn't exactly trusting of their guesses. And I don't know whether it was due to having a toddler to chase around, but I felt so much bigger, and more tired, and just more over it this time around. I was still a few weeks away from my due date, but I was already ready to be done, and felt fairly certain this baby would arrive early. And if the baby didn't decide to come soon, I was willing to...um...encourage her, so I asked my doctor about my options for an induction. I knew a lot of moms get induced with their second child, partly because it's a lot easier to have a planned window of time for labor and avoid a last minute "can you watch my kid right now?!?" type emergency when it's time to head for the hospital. At my thirty-eight week appointment, my doctor did an exam and determined I was almost four centimeters dilated already, and would be an excellent candidate for induction. She was scheduled to be on-call the next weekend anyway, so she was happy to schedule me for an early morning appointment on Saturday (the 22nd). On one hand, I was thrilled to have a firm end date for this pregnancy, and a definitive idea of when we'd get to meet our little girl (especially knowing it would be at least a few days sooner than we were originally planning!) but on the other hand, an actual date for induction made this whole thing really real, really fast. It turns out I actually had to have this baby after all, and scheduling her birthday meant there was no more fuzzy "someday" in regards to the labor of it all. It was coming. Soon.
Little did I know though, our little girl was even more anxious to meet us, and would be making efforts to move her arrival up even sooner. On Sunday June 16th, I sneaked away for a short afternoon nap...nothing unusual, for months I had needed all the extra shuteye I could get, so I had been trying to take advantage whenever Piper when down for a rest. I laid down around one o' clock, and I felt mild cramps, but decided it wasn't serious, and attempted to ignore them. They weren't major, but they definitely kept coming, and I remember thinking to myself, "Pleeeeease don't be contractions. I really don't want to have this baby today!"
Before scheduling the induction, Dustin and I had talked about when we ideally would want to have the baby, and he joked that he'd prefer me to go into labor late afternoon on a Friday, so he could put in a full day of work, and not to take time off. Of course we knew we couldn't orchestrate it all perfectly (or at all, really) but we were at least hoping to take advantage of the weekend days to boost the time off we planned to take. Our worst case scenario involved me having the baby on a Sunday night, or Monday morning, because Dustin wouldn't get the benefit of two weekends off.
So when I felt those early pains, I refused to believe that I might actually be in labor. I figured maybe it was mind over matter, and if I ignored them, they'd go away. Plus, though it had never been my experience, I knew other women often have contractions for days or weeks before delivering, so a few pains here and there didn't necessarily mean delivery was imminent.
I woke up from my nap and the contractions kept coming- still easily ten minutes apart though and extremely mild. I didn't want to admit that this might be the real thing, but I did start to get anxious, and my last minute nesting instinct kicked in. I immediately jumped in the shower, and set to work on giving my nails a fresh coat of paint (the same tasks I prioritized when I knew I was in labor with Piper. Sure it's vain, but I also knew it would be my last chance to primp for quite a while, so I took advantage.) I started to pack a bag for the hospital, a task I had put off for weeks, and suddenly felt nervous that I hadn't gotten that done yet. I still wouldn't admit that I might be in labor, but that didn't stop me from forcing Dustin to pack his bag too. Right. Now. He insisted he could toss some stuff in when the time came, but I was adamant. He pushed back for a minute or two, but then finally caught a glimpse of the Irrational Pregnancy Eyes, and figured it was better to appease me than argue.
Meanwhile, my mom called. I had been trying to get a hold of my parents all day (mostly to wish my dad a Happy Father's Day!) I gave her a hard time about being out of touch when I was this close to my due date, but she laughed it off, saying she knew I wouldn't deliver on a Sunday, and on Father's day no less. But she did admit that she had woken up with the sudden urge to pack her bag, so that she'd be ready to roll when the official call did come. I gave her a heads up that I was feeling some mild contractions, but didn't think it was anything to worry about. She made me promise to tell her if it got more intense, and told me she was more than willing to come immediately, even if it ended up being premature. I assured her everything was fine, and after wishing Vern a Happy Father's Day, we hung up.
By now it was around four o' clock, and the only thing I knew for sure was that I was starving. We had plans to go out with our friends Craig and Katie (a strange plan for Father's Day evening maybe, but we like them and it was saving me from cooking!) but I knew I couldn't wait until they arrived at five. Dustin whipped up a grilled cheese (my pregnancy craving staple) and I sat in Piper's room eating and worrying about the contractions that wouldn't seem to fade. By four-thirty I couldn't ignore it anymore. I started to cry, and told Dustin that I thought this was the real deal. I desperately didn't want today to be the day, but I couldn't stick my head in the sand any longer. It was happening. Ready or not.
I called my mom and told her about the turn of events, and she packed up and got on the road within minutes. Then I called Katie, and told here there would have to be a change of plans. We still wanted them to come over, but we wouldn't be able to go out to dinner, and I asked her if she would mind hanging out with Piper while we waited for my mom, and oh yeah, maybe left to go have a baby. She was happy to help- she had actually been our "when the time comes" babysitter plan all along- it was just extra convenient that she was already planning on coming over that night. Dustin and I were still in a bit of denial that this was all taking place though, so we assured the Sewalls that we'd could still have dinner (we had steak and veggies in the fridge, ready to prepare anyway). No need to cancel plans just on account of a silly thing like the imminent birth of a baby! So Dustin took Piper outside and got the grill going, while I hunkered down in bed with my laptop, busily firing off emails and wrapping up open projects from work. I thought I had a least another week to go, so I hadn't tied up loose ends, so the next hour and a half I furiously typed, taking a break every seven or so minutes to breathe through a contraction. (This seems a little crazy in hindsight, and a lot crazy when I type it out…but at least no one can say I wasn't dedicated!) I was still working when the Sewalls arrived, and they all started dinner without me, so I could finish up. Finally around six, I sent my last message and headed downstairs.
Dinner was already in progress, so we sat on the deck talking and laughing. (I ate a small salad…Somehow I didn't think gorging on steak right before leaving for the hospital was such a great idea.) Piper climbed around and played on my phone, while I took pauses from conversation for more contractions. At some point I realized I hadn't taken my weekly pregnancy photo, so we slid that one in just under the wire. As I held onto the deck railing between shots, we all laughed at the absurdity of how normal life just keeps happening, despite the momentous event about to take place.
Soon though, I wasn't feeling like hanging out. Dustin had gone inside to get Piper ready for bed, and I settled down on the couch, as my contractions got worse and closer together. Earlier in the day I had called my doctor to ask when exactly I should head for the hospital and she confirmed what I already thought: we needed to wait until the contractions were five minutes apart for an hour, and my pain was at least an 8 on a scale of 1-10. They were now coming around five minutes apart, but only for a few contractions in a row, with others spaced more like seven minutes. Still though, they were getting more intense, and based on my experience with Piper, I knew that by the time we got to the hospital, we would probably meet the necessary qualifications. I told Dustin it was time. Again, he questioned me, and again was silenced by the Crazy Eyes, wisely figuring if I said it was time to go, it was indeed time to go. Together we sneaked into Piper's room to see our only baby one last time. I knew that everything was about to change (even if I had no clue how, or how much) so I tried to soak in the sight of our little girl before a new little one would arrive and make her seem like a giant in comparison.
Dustin loaded up the car, and I sat down on the steps waiting for it to be finally, officially, time to go. He held me as I started to cry, telling him I was so scared of what was about to happen, and that I just really didn't want to do this. I remembered the pain last time, and though I knew what I was getting into, nothing can prepare you enough to want to do that again. But the contractions kept coming, so I said a hurried goodbye to Katie and Craig, through tear blurred eyes, and we were on our way.
At eight o'clock, the drive was mercifully short and we were at Magee in a matter of minutes (we were granted a beautiful sunset on the way as a bonus!) While we were enroute, my mom texted to say she had arrived safely. We were sad to have just missed her, but agreed it was for the best, because if she saw me she'd start crying, and then I'd keep crying, and the whole thing would have been a bit of a mess. Dustin dropped me off at the front door, while he went to park the car, and I had a deja vu moment, retracing my (confused) steps from when I arrived to deliver Piper. It seems no matter how much I listen on the hospital tour, I'm utterly incapable of remembering what floor to go to and what door to take, so I asked the front desk where one might go if one happened to be in labor. (second floor, make a left…just in case I ever need to know again). Before checking in, I stopped in the bathroom (just like last time), and Dustin texted me from the triage desk, worried that he couldn't find me (just like last time). Reunited, we filled out some paperwork and got our official labor and delivery wristbands and settled down to wait our turn to head back. By then the contractions were about three minutes apart and pretty intense, so I tried to relay that to the nurse to give her a sense that I'd love to be admitted sooner than later. We watched a little TV, surfed on our phones a bit, and I all around tried not to die while we waited our turn.
After what felt like a lifetime, but was probably fifteen minutes, we asked the nurse again if maybe they could find a room for me, and they admitted they had forgotten anyone was waiting, and agreed to take me immediately. So we finally got to enter those big double doors, and get this thing started. Once in triage, we went through the rigamarole of changing into a gown and doing a battery of tests. I remembered how freezing cold it had been the last time, so thankfully we had brought my heating pad just in case. It was indeed frigid again this time, but we weren't 100% clear on the rules regarding electric devices, so we slyly plugged it in and hoped one one would care. (At that point the contractions were so fast, and so strong that even if they did care, I sure didn't. If they weren't going to move me to a room to get this show on the road, then they were going to have to at least grant me my one modern convenience). The nurse asked a million questions, and logged the inconsequential answers, (seriously? Why do they ask what your pain is on a scale of 1-10? And how do you answer that? What's my frame of reference? Is one a paper cut and ten is childbirth? If I say ten can I have an epidural now? After throwing out a number to the third nurse I finally got frustrated and asked what they do with that info. She dryly answered "We write it in your chart." Oh. Ok. Then six. Next question.) While monitors beeped and allergies (none) were recorded, I counted contractions in my head, trying to guess how many more I might have to endure before they'd finally move me to a delivery room (aka, when can I finally get my blessed epidural, then thing I had been asking for from anyone with a hospital badge since we pulled in the parking garage). The nurse did a check on me and determined I was six centimeters dilated. (I proudly remember her saying she was shocked I was so far along, because most people at a six report much higher pain levels. That prompted Dustin and me to agree to say "ten!" if anyone ever asked about my pain again. Let's keep this moving!)
Through it all, the contractions kept coming, bringing an intense pain in my lower back. I was pretty much only (slightly) comfortable laying on my back (with knees up) or curled up on my side. I did my best to breathe through them, finding that they seemed to pass quicker and more easily if I tried to let the pain wash over me in a way, vs. struggling through it. I've never taken a birthing class, so I was pretty much cobbling together coping strategies I had seen in movies and TV. With Piper I remember thinking that I should be counting, breathing, and concentrating on a focus point or something, but the entire time I was in triage I was miserable, and begging to be brought to a room. This time I was equally impatient, and probably in a similar amount of pain, but skipping all the counting and focusing in favor of riding it out each time seemed to work better. (Though I am pretty addicted to watching the peaks and valleys show up on the monitor that tracks contractions. It's reassuring somehow to see a nice high spike after a painful contraction. Like visual confirmation that I'm not overreacting- this is really that hard.)
Finally, finally they said our room was ready (or I was ready for our room) and we wheeled off to the next leg of the journey. The nurse informed me that they were pretty slow that evening, so there shouldn't be any delay in getting me an epidural. Best news I heard all night. As we rolled into my room, I glanced at the clock by the door, noting it was twenty to ten. I suddenly realized that my baby's birthdate was about to be determined, and for some reason, immediately had a preference for 6/16, vs. 6/17. (I think I just like even numbers better? Plus a Father's day birth would be a cute story, and the sixteenth is exactly one week after Dustin's birthday.) But knowing it was almost ten and I wasn't even through the labor and delivery doorway yet, I figured having the baby before midnight was a bit of a long shot. I guessed I might haver her in the wee hours of the morning, and gave up on giving her a cute little math-fact birthday.
We got settled for a minute, which just means they hooked me up to a couple more monitors while I continued to ask Dustin how long before I could get my epidural. (I know he didn't know any more than I did, but I hate feeling out of control, so I needed any reassurance I could get, that I could do this, and it wouldn't hurt this badly much longer.) And finally (I hate to keep using that word, but there is no accurate way to portray how slowly time passes while in labor, so waiting even thirty seconds for some type of relief or progress warrants a hearty finally each and every time) I was greeted by our anesthesiologist; a man-child Dustin and I lovingly refer to as Starburns-Wolverine. He's the same doctor I had when Piper was born, with the same gigantic mutton-chop sideburns, and greased up, spiky hair. Dustin greeted him like a long lost friend, while I tried to keep everyone's focus on the paperwork required in order to grant me my blessed medication. The two of them chatted for a few minutes, and Dr. Wolverine informed us he was an "actual doctor" this time (last time he was a resident and had to have supervision while administering the shot). At this point I couldn't have cared less if he was an "actual janitor" as long as they gave him access to the pain meds. I signed and signed and signed whatever waivers came near me, and snapped at Dustin to keep the catching-up to a minimum so Dr. 'Burns could focus on the task at hand.
My contractions were coming a bit too fast for him to get much done between them, so prepping my back, and actually giving the shot took a few minutes. While he worked, he assured me that the good thing about childbirth is you can have a healthy baby either way, prompting me to ask him if that was the case, then why would anyone would want to do it without drugs? The nurse chimed in that she has seen lots of people prefer a "natural" childbirth, saying they were just calm people. I informed her that I am many things, but calm isn't typically one of them, and certainly not in this scenario, so I was more than happy to receive the drugs. Dr. Needle reminded me that there are a fair number of people that want to have an epidural, but aren't able to get it in time. I promptly retorted that I didn't want to hear about that right now, just keep the juice coming, thankyouverymuch. As he was finishing up, I asked how long it would be before it took effect. He said he had given me a test dose, which might help with the pain slightly, but once he gave me the real deal, it would be about five minutes. Removing the needle, he tilted me onto my side, and I immediately felt like I had to pee. I informed the nurse, and she looked at me with big condescending "I've never had a baby, but I've seen it done before, so let me belittle your current experience with my textbook knowledge" eyes, and told me no, I must be mistaken. I assured her: No. I've actually felt the urge to pee once or twice before, and I am pretty sure I've been able to identify that feeling since I was, say, three years old. (I think I actually only said the "No, I'm pretty sure." part out loud, but I can't be positive.) But before she and I could haggle over a catheter vs. a bedpan, I started to feel intense pressure, causing me to yell, "Pressure, pressure, so much pressure." I had no idea what was happening, but so I was panicked, and seconds later there was a loud pop, and my water broke. With Piper, they had to break my water for me (a much quieter, slower, gentler process) so I had no idea what to expect, and hadn't really even thought about the fact that my water hadn't broken yet. I was taken off guard, but once I realized that's what had happened, I calmed down (and the "do you really have to pee?" argument was rendered moot).
The calm after-the-storm, before-the-storm, only lasted a second or two though, before I realized the baby was coming. Again, I verbalized my panic quickly, succinctly, and loud: "The baby is coming! The baby is coming!!" And again, the nurse told me I was mistaken. No, it's not time yet. I ignored her dissent, instinctually rolling on to my back, yelling "oh my god" repeatedly. Everyone (meaning my nurse, and the charge nurse who had apparently come in when she heard the commotion) kept yelling not to push, that it was too soon, but I yelled back that I wasn't pushing, but I didn't have a choice- the baby was coming. Quickly, the nurse took a look, and with a stunned face, told me: "Push." Wait, what? I was scared and confused, being told emphatically not to push, and then immediately told I should. She responded to my panicked questioning, explaining that the baby's head was out, and I just had to push to get her shoulders out. Dr. FaceFuzz, who had finished my epidural dose no less than 3 minutes ago was still by my side, and without a word, he grabbed one of my legs, Dustin grabbed the other, and two pushes later, our sweet baby girl slid onto the bed, without a doctor, or medical tool in sight.
I saw her immediately, and the relief of delivery mixed with the fear of wondering if she was ok. It had happened so quickly, I was scared she was hurt, or struggling. In fact, she was perfect. While they looked for something to use to clean her up, they asked if I wanted to hold her. Absolutely, I did. She laid wrapped in my gown on my belly, while I looked at Dustin with stunned, happy, tears, saying "Is she ok? Are we ok? That was crazy. Oh my gosh" on repeat.
After the wild rush of her arrival, I was able to reflect a bit on what had just happened. With Piper, I had received the epidural and labored for a few hours before feeling the urge to push. My doctor had been there to monitor my progress the entire time, and encouraged me as I pushed for just under a half an hour. When it came time to actually deliver, I remember being stopped abruptly, while the room transformed, staff suited up, and supplies were prepped. Then after she was born, she was whisked away to be checked, wiped, and wrapped, while I was put back together again.
This time, it all happened too fast for all the formalities, and I could barely take in all the events as they happened, experiencing everything as a blur. I remember the nurse trying to maintain her composure towards me, as she simultaneously called my doctor in a panic, explaining she needed to get here right. now. There were frantic calls for help, but the baby arrived before anything could be put into place, so it happened the old fashioned way. No elaborate bed transformation, no fancy mirror and light, no changing into gowns, or masks, or glasses (maybe there was time for gloves?) Just a baby. And a mama. And a daddy. And an unsuspecting superhero anesthesiologist. And a wandering charge nurse.
By then, a doctor had appeared (not my doctor, but a doctor) and she checked on me and the baby, confirming we were indeed, both fine. She called my doctor too, informing her I had a level two tear (Level two! Praise the Lord in Heaven!) asking if she should repair it, or wait for her to arrive. Dr. Woo gave her the approval to repair without her, which was fine by me. The epidural may not have arrived in time to spare me much of the pain of childbirth, but after being an un-consenting witness to the scene, I think Dr. X-Man did me the favor of dosing me up pretty good as a consolation prize. Last time the repair was long and scary, as my whole body shook, and I held Dustin's hand in fear, as my baby lay in the warming drawer (is that what they call it?) This time, I got to snuggle my little lady, as the doctor quickly stitched me up, assuring me it would be no where near the pain of last time (could she know that? Maybe not, but I soaked up her encouragement all the same).
We cuddled- Dustin, our baby, and me; a stunned, but elated trio. We said over and over, "That was wild. Wasn't that wild? Can you believe how crazy that was?" while soaking up the pure and immediate joy of our new daughter. Her arrival may have been hurried, and painful, and confusing, and scary, but the only feeling when I laid eyes on her for the very first time was love. She was instantly the most beautiful, perfect little being I had ever known (Piper, if you're reading this-don't worry. It was a tie.) I fell in love that day- fast and furious, and forever, with my sweet little Finley Joann.
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