My son, I have been trying to come about and write an account of your birth. I have to admit, I harbored a lot of ill feelings about the recollection of it all, and sometimes it still haunts me how you came into this world. I feel guilty for a number of reasons, and I feel angry for a number more. However, I must preface all of this by saying that I am overwhelmingly happy that you are here, healthy, and adorable as can be.
Your "due date" was estimated at the very beginning at December 17. I say estimated because that was what I was told to call it at the time. That nothing was for sure, really. Of course, I told them, and on about we went. It was the perfect pregnancy. One hundred percent drug free. I didn't even bother with a Tylenol on the two occasions I was under the weather. You were healthy and forming just as you should be. I was eating as well as I could, and every test was coming back normal as could be.
As I continued to grow with you, December 17 came and went. Christmas came and went. I finally stopped showing up for work because I was cramping and feeling generally icky for the last two weeks of December. It was then that it was apparent that our due date was etched in stone, and the powers that be had had enough waiting. They considered me two weeks late, and wanted to induce on the 31st if I didn't go into labor naturally. We had a couple of false alarms, but for the most part, I was cramping on and off for a week and a half straight.
December 31st arrived, and so you were supposed to be arriving as well. Matt and I packed up the Jeep, and made a quick stop at a minute mart for orange juice, something to eat, and water. I knew this was going to be a long process. We arrived on time, and were told to stick around in a waiting room because every single bed was taken at the moment. I felt a pang of guilt right then, figuring, maybe you weren't late. Perhaps you were just right on time and we shouldn't be rushing this along. Too little too late. They pulled us back after waiting to get a hep lock put in, vitals taken, and paperwork filled out. After all of that, I met my family back in the waiting room to yet again wait for a room to open up. About forty five minutes later, one did, and so we were escorted back. When I say "we", I mean, you, me, your father, your aunt, and all three sets of grandparents. I had quite an audience to keep me company.
I was issued a hospital gown, and put on some monitors to see what your baseline stats looked like. All was well and getting ready to get underway. Dr. VanScriver came in, and we shooed everyone out except your father. My water was broken, and mysoprostal was applied to induce labor. Everyone was ushered back in, and we all hung out while contractions started to build. I laid my head to the side and tried to let everything fall away while I closed my eyes through each one. I could hear everyone talking, and every now and again I was asked how I was doing, but after a while, I didn't want to talk. Once the machine started cranking out the numbers that the powers that be wanted to see, I was allowed up and out of bed for a while. Everyone was ushered out into the waiting room since I wanted to get up and to the bathroom, and get down to business. We started at 2cm. I labored with you on the potty for a bit since the pressure was too great to sit on the hard surface of the shower, and I wasn't prepared to stand up. But I finally got my feet under me and decided to labor in the hot water for a bit. During the past few weeks, hot water had become my friend. I stood in the shower, holding the shower head at my back, and swayed and moaned with you while we worked together for an hour. I was interrupted and sent back to bed to be strapped with monitors once again.
We were now at 5cm. I had been laboring for a few hours now. Back in bed, things got uncomfortable. Your grandmother and your father were both there to help with things. Your grandfather brought in gatorade earlier in the morning and some rice cakes. They both came up after laboring in the bed for an hour or so. The powers that be didn't like the numbers that were being put up, and came in with an IV and oxygen mask for me. Your father was scared. I was scared, but confident that we might still be able to have the birth we wanted for you. Contractions were getting so intense. I was falling asleep between each wave, trying to catch a break where I could. Those were becoming shorter and shorter. I snapped at your father after he asked me, once again during a contraction, how I was doing. I felt guilty, but was in too much pain to do much about it. I was put on all fours to see if I could not only get more oxygen to you, but labor more effectively. It turned out that the IV line wasn't working, and they had to get another one in. They blew out my vein on the first one, but manged to get a second line in. I wanted to push, and at that announcement, at only 9cm, a FLOOD of people entered the room.
The lights shined bright as they turned me over onto my back, and pulled my knees up to my ears. This was not how things were supposed to go. You were still sunny side up and refused to turn around. You were in the birth canal already. I was pushing for only half an hour, and pushing very well by the lead nurse's account. Your heart rate kept decelerating after every contraction. Too low. In the 90's, then the 70's. Just too much work for such a small body to handle. Seven hours of labor. That's a lot of work. Pushing hurt. You still had a little bit of lip left over you, and Dr. Slade said she had let this go further than she wanted to. They were prepping the OR without even telling me they were prepping. Matt and I urged her to let me work a little longer with you. My gut kept telling me you were alright. I was terrified. They wanted to cut me open and take you away from me. They didn't want to wait. They threatened that I would have to work as hard as I ever had for 20+ more minutes, but they weren't willing to let me do it.
And so the call was made.
Your father was put in scrubs, tears filled my eyes as I watched my mother cry for us, and was wheeled out of our room and into an opertating room to "deliver" you.
My heart was wrentching. This was not how I envisioned it.
They were talking above me as if I wasn't there. In one moment, the process of spinal anethesia was being described as I was going through yet another contraction, then performed, and in the next, Matt was next to my face looking above the curtain as the procedure to "rescue you" was being performed. In the middle of a sentence, you were born. I was completely unaware that they were bringing you out, then all the sudden, your cry was heard. I didn't get to see anything. My heart broke and rejoiced all at once. You were okay. You were here. Except... it wasn't me that birthed you.
They stated that nothing was abnormal. Your cord was not around your neck, you were in no distress. And as it turns out, you looked like a 39-40 week old baby. Not a 42 week old.
As they stitched me up and put me back together again, they cleaned you up, took all the measurements, and handed the 8 pound, 20 1/2" long bundle to your father. He brought you next to my face so that I could meet you for the first time. You were the most beautiful little boy I had ever seen. With the biggest feet I had ever seen!
It took longer than normal to get you out as you were already wedged into the canal. The family was on pins and needles expecting the worst news because of that, as your father went out to tell them that everything was okay. I breastfed you within an hour of your birth. You were amazing and took to it right away. It was a wonderful moment to share with you. To know that I could at least do something. You were a very calm baby. Just a sleepy and hungry newborn with a penchant for being so adorably cute.
Time seems to blur in and out, but the next thing I remember, all of our family came in to meet you.... and the rest, as they say, is history.
Three days later, you were home, and we both recovered. Together.
Thus, this is the story of how you were brought into this world.
Your "due date" was estimated at the very beginning at December 17. I say estimated because that was what I was told to call it at the time. That nothing was for sure, really. Of course, I told them, and on about we went. It was the perfect pregnancy. One hundred percent drug free. I didn't even bother with a Tylenol on the two occasions I was under the weather. You were healthy and forming just as you should be. I was eating as well as I could, and every test was coming back normal as could be.
As I continued to grow with you, December 17 came and went. Christmas came and went. I finally stopped showing up for work because I was cramping and feeling generally icky for the last two weeks of December. It was then that it was apparent that our due date was etched in stone, and the powers that be had had enough waiting. They considered me two weeks late, and wanted to induce on the 31st if I didn't go into labor naturally. We had a couple of false alarms, but for the most part, I was cramping on and off for a week and a half straight.
December 31st arrived, and so you were supposed to be arriving as well. Matt and I packed up the Jeep, and made a quick stop at a minute mart for orange juice, something to eat, and water. I knew this was going to be a long process. We arrived on time, and were told to stick around in a waiting room because every single bed was taken at the moment. I felt a pang of guilt right then, figuring, maybe you weren't late. Perhaps you were just right on time and we shouldn't be rushing this along. Too little too late. They pulled us back after waiting to get a hep lock put in, vitals taken, and paperwork filled out. After all of that, I met my family back in the waiting room to yet again wait for a room to open up. About forty five minutes later, one did, and so we were escorted back. When I say "we", I mean, you, me, your father, your aunt, and all three sets of grandparents. I had quite an audience to keep me company.
I was issued a hospital gown, and put on some monitors to see what your baseline stats looked like. All was well and getting ready to get underway. Dr. VanScriver came in, and we shooed everyone out except your father. My water was broken, and mysoprostal was applied to induce labor. Everyone was ushered back in, and we all hung out while contractions started to build. I laid my head to the side and tried to let everything fall away while I closed my eyes through each one. I could hear everyone talking, and every now and again I was asked how I was doing, but after a while, I didn't want to talk. Once the machine started cranking out the numbers that the powers that be wanted to see, I was allowed up and out of bed for a while. Everyone was ushered out into the waiting room since I wanted to get up and to the bathroom, and get down to business. We started at 2cm. I labored with you on the potty for a bit since the pressure was too great to sit on the hard surface of the shower, and I wasn't prepared to stand up. But I finally got my feet under me and decided to labor in the hot water for a bit. During the past few weeks, hot water had become my friend. I stood in the shower, holding the shower head at my back, and swayed and moaned with you while we worked together for an hour. I was interrupted and sent back to bed to be strapped with monitors once again.
We were now at 5cm. I had been laboring for a few hours now. Back in bed, things got uncomfortable. Your grandmother and your father were both there to help with things. Your grandfather brought in gatorade earlier in the morning and some rice cakes. They both came up after laboring in the bed for an hour or so. The powers that be didn't like the numbers that were being put up, and came in with an IV and oxygen mask for me. Your father was scared. I was scared, but confident that we might still be able to have the birth we wanted for you. Contractions were getting so intense. I was falling asleep between each wave, trying to catch a break where I could. Those were becoming shorter and shorter. I snapped at your father after he asked me, once again during a contraction, how I was doing. I felt guilty, but was in too much pain to do much about it. I was put on all fours to see if I could not only get more oxygen to you, but labor more effectively. It turned out that the IV line wasn't working, and they had to get another one in. They blew out my vein on the first one, but manged to get a second line in. I wanted to push, and at that announcement, at only 9cm, a FLOOD of people entered the room.
The lights shined bright as they turned me over onto my back, and pulled my knees up to my ears. This was not how things were supposed to go. You were still sunny side up and refused to turn around. You were in the birth canal already. I was pushing for only half an hour, and pushing very well by the lead nurse's account. Your heart rate kept decelerating after every contraction. Too low. In the 90's, then the 70's. Just too much work for such a small body to handle. Seven hours of labor. That's a lot of work. Pushing hurt. You still had a little bit of lip left over you, and Dr. Slade said she had let this go further than she wanted to. They were prepping the OR without even telling me they were prepping. Matt and I urged her to let me work a little longer with you. My gut kept telling me you were alright. I was terrified. They wanted to cut me open and take you away from me. They didn't want to wait. They threatened that I would have to work as hard as I ever had for 20+ more minutes, but they weren't willing to let me do it.
And so the call was made.
Your father was put in scrubs, tears filled my eyes as I watched my mother cry for us, and was wheeled out of our room and into an opertating room to "deliver" you.
My heart was wrentching. This was not how I envisioned it.
They were talking above me as if I wasn't there. In one moment, the process of spinal anethesia was being described as I was going through yet another contraction, then performed, and in the next, Matt was next to my face looking above the curtain as the procedure to "rescue you" was being performed. In the middle of a sentence, you were born. I was completely unaware that they were bringing you out, then all the sudden, your cry was heard. I didn't get to see anything. My heart broke and rejoiced all at once. You were okay. You were here. Except... it wasn't me that birthed you.
They stated that nothing was abnormal. Your cord was not around your neck, you were in no distress. And as it turns out, you looked like a 39-40 week old baby. Not a 42 week old.
As they stitched me up and put me back together again, they cleaned you up, took all the measurements, and handed the 8 pound, 20 1/2" long bundle to your father. He brought you next to my face so that I could meet you for the first time. You were the most beautiful little boy I had ever seen. With the biggest feet I had ever seen!
It took longer than normal to get you out as you were already wedged into the canal. The family was on pins and needles expecting the worst news because of that, as your father went out to tell them that everything was okay. I breastfed you within an hour of your birth. You were amazing and took to it right away. It was a wonderful moment to share with you. To know that I could at least do something. You were a very calm baby. Just a sleepy and hungry newborn with a penchant for being so adorably cute.
Time seems to blur in and out, but the next thing I remember, all of our family came in to meet you.... and the rest, as they say, is history.
Three days later, you were home, and we both recovered. Together.
Thus, this is the story of how you were brought into this world.
To read Candice's HBAC story of Mary, click here:
http://icanofnorthflorida.blogspot.com/2012/11/marys-birth-story.html.