Birth Story: He’s Here.

8 Dec

The nurse came offering pain medication (yes please!) around 4am and I was able to sleep in between contractions for a few hours.  By 6am, I was dilated to four centimeters and they suggested an epidural.  You didn’t need to ask me twice.  Yes, please.

Tim had to leave the room while they gave me the epidural – apparently they lose more husbands at the sight of a giant needle entering their wives back than during delivery.  And, the pain relief was instantaneous.  We called my mom who planned to join us later that morning to give a status update, and settled in for the long haul.

I have very few specific memories from this point out.  I remember my mom arriving – with her bag of food and snacks for Tim.  I remember starting to feel pain again in the early afternoon, and negotiating with the nurse that yes, it actually was pain and not pressure.  I remember proving to everyone that my epidural had completely stopped working.  And, I remember saying again and again that “this wasn’t what I signed up for.” I remember not wanting anyone to touch me, or to talk to anyone.  I remember that  “breathe through it” seemed like useless advice. I remember ruing the decision to not take the birthing class and learn about all the magical things that were supposed to decrease your pain.  And, I vividly remember the octogenarian from anesthesia who came in and injected Sprite (it might as well have been for all it worked…) into my epidural and promised that it would reduce the pain in just a few minutes. I recall alerting everyone that a few minutes had gone by and things were not any better, and insisting to the nurse that they come right back and give me another epidural.

So, yes, two epidurals later, I was again able to speak with those in the room.  My dad arrived in the late afternoon. I was shaky from the epidural medicine – not really cold, but chattery teeth and visible shaking.  But, at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less. I would have shook till my teeth came out to not endure those brutal, pitocin-induced contractions head-on.

Soon after that, I started to understand what the feeling of “pressure” that everyone kept mentioning actually felt like.  With it, the undeniable urge to get this baby out N.O.W. The nurse confirmed my hunch that I was ready to push.  My dad headed out to the waiting room, and the room transformed from the casual waiting area it had been to a true medical facility – with things popping out from behind picture frames and coming down from the ceiling. The doctor arrived, and the scene was set for delivery.

I remember thinking, around this time, that I’d rather have a c-section.  That, what was about to happen, was such inordinate pressure on me to deliver this baby.  To woman up and get him out. That no one but me could do it.  And, that in minutes, BBP (who still had no name) would be here, and Tim and I would finally be parents.

The pushing… a blur.

Pain. Searing pain. Pressure. The nurse counting down – again and again. Asking the doctor to just “pull him out.” Oxygen mask on my face. Being told that it was close, and that “we can see him.” Me asserting that everyone was lying. Pushing. Pushing. Pushing. Feeling like I couldn’t do it anymore. The doctor seeming more serious. The urge to push being irresistible regardless of contraction. The doctor confirming that it was a nuchal. Then saying it was a double.  And tight.  Me not knowing what that meant. The baby… here. Wishing him a happy birthday.  Not knowing his name.  The doctor rushing Tim to cut the cord, and then the baby gone.

The pain finally subsiding.  Reason and logic returning to my brain, I realized that we hadn’t heard the baby cry.  The doctor assured me they were “waking him up” over in the baby area of the room.  Again, a realization that there were a lot of people in the room – a team from the NICU – and that something must be wrong. We were still waiting to hear him cry, although we could hear the NICU team working furiously and commenting that it was “good he had a strong heartbeat.” They were trying to start an IV, but couldn’t get it in his tiny veins.

Finally, the tiniest of cries…  I could hear the relief in the doctors working on him.  I could see the relief in my mom’s eyes.  But, I couldn’t process any of it, because my baby was here.  With that little cry, I became a mama… his mama. And everything… absolutely everything… changed.  We were parents.  He was ours, and we were his.  Forever.

 

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4 Responses to “Birth Story: He’s Here.”

  1. Teresa December 8, 2011 at 12:06 pm #

    Beautiful. Love the “me asserting that everyone was lying”

  2. Megan December 8, 2011 at 2:54 pm #

    Made me cry. 🙂

  3. Gigi December 8, 2011 at 7:08 pm #

    Definition of eternity- the time waiting for pale, white,limp BBP ( still no name) to pink up, make a sound, watching that NICU group stick him ( unsuccessfully, again and again) and not reacting to my terror!!!! And then he was and IS perfect……. Welcome Luke!!!!!!

  4. Kristin December 8, 2011 at 10:02 pm #

    Love these posts! Happy Birthday Luke!

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