Monday, August 25th, 2008
I woke up with a painful attack of “the runs”. I’m sure 99% of it was from my nerves, but it made for a long, exhausting day. Dave went to work as usual, but came home around 12:30 with a couple of sandwiches (and an Immodium chaser for me). After we ate, we both tried to snooze; but we were far too keyed up at the thought of the baby coming. I finally got up at 3:00 and showered, and made a half-hearted attempt to shave my legs. Shockingly, I had never packed my hospital bag; so I started throwing things into my rolling suitcase. I only grabbed 2 nightgowns, 3 pairs of underwear, and a pair of shorts & a t-shirt. You see, at this point, I was still expecting a vaginal delivery & thought I’d be coming home in 2 days. Of course, I remembered my deodorant, hair products and make-up; since we’d be having loads of visitors and I needed to be camera ready (ha!).
At 5:15, we said goodbye to the dogs and drove to the hospital. Neither of us said much in the car on the way over. Our entire conversation revolved around the next 24 hours, and how we thought we’d have the baby by Tuesday night. We pulled up to the valet parking at the hospital, and told the attendant the next time we needed the car, there would be one more of us along for the ride.
In the lobby, we stopped in front of the water fountains for one last “big belly” picture. Unfortunately, the flash didn’t go off, and all we have is a grainy mess. A little foreshadowing of the events to come, perhaps?
We took the elevators up to the maternity floor, and checked in. A plus-size nurse took us back to our room (room 319), and told me to take off my clothes and change into a gown. Secretly, I was thrilled at a fellow chunky chick being by my side for my first ever night in the hospital. Of course, my happiness was short-lived when she announced she was leaving for the night, and Janet would be in shortly to get me started.
About 15 minutes later, all 105 pounds of Janet came rolling in; bearing a clipboard and a forced smile. She took my vital information, hooked me up to a central line IV, and told me that she was going to do an internal exam & insert the Cervidil to get my cervix ready to go. After the Cervidil was in place, she had me stand up & get hooked up to a fetal heart monitor with a belt that she pulled too tight. Once I got back in bed, the baby kept wiggling around and “falling off” the transducer; so she’d have to move it around until we found it again. This went on for HOURS.
About 10:00, she came back in to check on us again, and said she could detect my nervous energy. Geez, lady, ya think?!? It’s my first time in the hospital, I’m trying to have a baby, and I’m scared to death. Then she asked if she could do a “laying of hands” on me. At first, I was scared shitless skeptical; but she told us she was a Reiki Master and promised that it would help calm me down. Thinking I had nothing to lose (since I was stuck in that damn bed for the entire night anyway), I agreed to let her try.
And she put her hands on my forehead. And the sides of my face. And over my heart. And on my belly. And on my legs. And I felt…nothing. I wish I could say it worked – that I felt the warm, healing light she described to me – but I just felt tired.
So she left, and turned down the lights for the night. Dave pulled out his twin-size paper thin mattress, and crashed for the night. Within 10 minutes, he was snoring away. I, of course, was wide awake. And starving, since my sandwich was long gone. When the nurse came in for my hourly blood pressure check (!), I asked her for something to nibble on. Since I was on a liquid diet, I had to make due with a container of jello and some lukewarm chicken broth. But it was something, and I managed to get about 90 minutes of sleep over the next six hours.
Tuesday, August 26th, 2008
About 2:00 a.m., I got up to use the bathroom. And discovered my first of many errors during this birthing process. I had them put the IV in my right hand, which is my dominant hand. When I went to wipe, I caught the IV line on the edge of the toilet seat. Um, ick.
At 6:00 a.m., another new nurse woke me up to check on the Cervidil. Turns out my cervix was completely thinned out, and we were ready to start the Pitocin. Except my doctor was nowhere to be found. In the interim, they were able to unhook the IV so I could take a quick shower. I no more than stepped in the shower, and Dave was at the door, telling me that the doctor had arrived and was waiting to talk to me. So I quickly washed up (never shampooing my hair, of course), dried off, and hopped back into bed.
At 7:00 a.m., we started the Pitocin drip. Now I was starting to get scared. This was real. I could be dilated to 10 cm & pushing the baby out in a matter of hours. Oh. My. God.
The morning passed in a blur of daytime television and nurses doing internal exams. And moving that damned fetal heartrate monitor every 5 minutes when the baby moved. Breakfast and lunch were exactly the same: chicken broth, jello, and hot tea. I tried to snooze, but it was just too noisy and I was too excited.
By 2:00 in the afternoon, I was only dilated to 2cm. Two freaking centimeters after seven hours on Pitocin. My doctor agreed to up the dosage to get things moving. But nothing happened.
By 5:00 in the evening, I had had it. I was ready to walk out and go home. My back hurt from laying in bed for 24 hours, I wasn’t having any contractions, and the baby obviously wasn’t ready to come out. I was overtired, cranky, and miserable.
At 6:00, another nurse came in & checked my cervix. I had dilated another 2 whole centimeters to 4cm. And as she was poking around, she said, “Oh my God. Your water just broke.”. And so I felt the warm, weeping sensation of amniotic fluid running out of my body and onto the bed. I got up to go to the toilet, and another huge gush came rushing out. Think Niagara Falls.
At least they were able to remove the fetal heart monitor and hook up an internal one to his head. I couldn’t believe my son was right there, just above my cervix, waiting to come out.
The nurse told us that she’s having fertility problems, too, and just starting testing. They’ve been trying for over 3 years, and are just entering the realm of infertility workups and blood tests and medications. I wanted to jump out of bed and hug her, and tell her to keep her hopes up. I recognized so much of myself in her. The fear, and the anger, and the overwhelming sadness.
Just after 8:00, my blood pressure spiked up to 180/120 and my temperature shot up to 102. I was having horrible back labor, and my body wasn’t handling the stress of no sleep and pain very well. I heard the words “call the doctor” and “emergency c-section” and started freaking out. They called my doctor, and he recommended giving me an epidural to help ease the pain (and prepare me for a c-section, “just in case”).
Since I was going to be immobilized, the nurses had to insert a catheter. Oh God, I hate catheters. I think I’ve had them two or three times, and have ended up with a UTI after every one of them was removed. Lesson learned? If you’re going to be catheterized, drink a bunch of cranberry juice when it comes out.
About an hour later, the anesthesiologist came in and started explaining the entire procedure to me. I rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, and within 10 minutes, my back was covered in iodine and the needle was in. I didn’t feel anything when he inserted the catheter into my spine, but felt a sharp electric pain shoot down my right leg when he was positioning the wire. When I jumped, he yelled “BINGO – I got the right spot” and taped everything into place. About 15 minutes later, my back pain was completely gone. Of course, I didn’t have any feeling in my legs, either; but WHO CARES?!? My back pain was gone!!!
The nurse also told us about a fellow preggo at the hospital, who was dilated to 2cm and SCREAMING for her epidural. Apparently she was yelling and threatening to sue because she was going to die from the pain. At two centimeters. Oy.
After another half an hour, the nurse came in checked my blood pressure again, and it was back down to 140/95 (relatively normal for me). She called the doctor, who told me to get some rest & be ready to start pushing in the next few hours. I responded by throwing up. Several times.
Except. My cervix stopped dilating at 4cm. After 20 hours on Pitocin, the doctor decided to stop giving it to me & scheduled a c-section for 6:00 in the morning. My blood pressure was climbing again; but the baby’s heart rate was dropping & he needed to come out.
Wednesday, August 27th, 2008
At 4:00 a.m., two nurses came in to shave my Bermuda triangle. At 5:00, another nurse came in to make me drink the nasty liquid they give you to neutralize your stomach acid before surgery. Again, I threw it all back up. At 5:30, Dave was changing into surgical scrubs and I was being wheeled down the hallway to the operating room.
Just as we entered the surgical suite, I looked out the window and saw the most glorious sunrise. Like it was God’s way of saying, “Be at peace now. Your little one will be here soon, and he’ll be fine.”. They put me on a roller board & transferred me to the operating table. As they hung the sheet over my chest, I tried to signal the anesthesiologist and threw up all over my gown. About two minutes later, I threw up again; this time down the side of my face and in my hair. Dave walked into the room and sat next to my head, and I threw up again. I was scared out of my mind, and I couldn’t even talk to my husband; because every time I opened my mouth, I puked.
It was eerily quiet in the operating room, so my doctor requested some music. I can’t tell you what was playing; only that The Gynie god was quietly humming along with the tune. They told me I’d feel some pressure, and a minute later, my son came out screaming. There was no pause, no waiting to hear his first cry, no worrying about whether or not he was breathing on his own. He was HOWLING.
The neonatologist took him to the examining area, and Dave rushed over there to see him. The first words the neonatologist said to Dave were, “He’s perfect. Just perfect.”. The entire operating room fell into a hushed quiet, and they took Mason’s measurements. After bundling him up, they brought him to Dave for his first ever cuddle on the outside. All I could do was throw up. Again.
Dave brought him to my head, and I couldn’t even see him. I had to turn my head the other way to throw up again. Talk about ruining the moment. I think that will haunt me for the rest of my life. It was time to meet my new son, and I couldn’t touch him or hold him or even say hello. I could only cry in frustration.
After the doctor stitched me up, I told Dave to go to the nursery with the baby. They put me on the roller board & transferred me back to the traditional hospital bed, and wheeled my back to my room. I threw up in the hallway and again in the room. Soon, the nurses left and I was alone in my hospital room. And I felt empty.
A little while later, Dave came back and told me he had done Mason’s first diaper change and given him his first bath. I acted interested; but inside, my heart was breaking. It’s terrible to spend almost 10 months with a baby inside you, only to miss his first few hours getting to know the outside world.
Around noon, the nurse came in & asked me to get out of bed and try standing up. I felt pretty good, and walked slowly to the bathroom & back to bed. They took the epidural out, and I threw up again. About two hours later, my parents came to visit and got to hold Mason while I sat in bed and threw up. I don’t know why, but I feel like I missed so much bonding time with him. When they finally left, I got to hold him for the first time. But only for a minute, since I needed to throw up again.
Then I started the scratching. Oh, God, the scratching. It felt like every inch of my body was covered in biting little flies. I wanted to claw my skin off. I scratched my arms and legs until they were almost raw, and my fingernails were caked in dried blood.
Wednesday night, they brought him to me to try and breastfeed. Except my milk hadn’t come in yet (not surprising, considering he was three weeks early). He wouldn’t latch on, and they took him back to the nursery for another snooze.
I got up to go to the bathroom; and all of a sudden, there were 5 nurses sprinting into our room. Dave came flying next to the toilet, to make sure I was okay. Apparently, when I sat down on the toilet, I caught the “emergency call” button on the wall. Take it to heart, if you pull that chain, the nurses come running.
About midnight, they brought Mason back for another attempt. This time, he latched on; but nothing came out. I was exhausted, and needed to sleep. So the nursery nurse took him away and brought me an Ambien, and I fell into a light, dreamless sleep.
I also had the inflatable booties on my legs to prevent blood clots, and I kept kicking them off. Every time I did this, the alarm went off waking up Dave and myself. So much for the Ambien.
Thursday, August 28th, 2008
I woke up bright and early, and attempted to nurse my son again. He would latch on, but still, nothing was coming out. After he went back to the nursery, I tried pumping several times; but I only got a drop or two.
A little while later, Mason’s doctor came to see us & told us he was jaundiced and needed to go under the bili lights. I tried to eat again, and managed to keep down 2 pieces of toast & some cranberry juice.
Again, the morning passed in a blur. They brought Mason back for another attempted feeding, and my boobs just weren’t cooperating. I kept trying to pump for 20 minutes at a time, but the precious colustrum never made an appearance.
My urine was also a strange salmon color, so the doctor ordered a saline flush. They ran gallons of water through my body, until my urine returned to a normal yellow color.
Thursday afternoon, my parents came up for another visit. After only 15 minutes, though, my blood pressure jumped back up to 165/105 and my temperature spiked up to 103. I immediately had to lay on my side with cool compresses on my head, and my parents had to leave. Dave went to the nursery & I tried to sleep, but couldn’t get comfortable.
A little while later, my bp was back down & I convinced them to take out the catheter. I was walking slowly, but knew I could go to the bathroom on my own. Sweet relief, it was amazing to pee freely again!
Thursday night, the nursery nurse came in and said that Mason’s weight had dropped to six pounds, and they needed to start giving him formula right away. They brought him in the room, and Dave fed him his first bottle (another first I missed out on). When they took him back to the nursery, I tried to pump again and wanted to scream when the bottles remained dry.
To try and cheer me up, Dave and I took a shower together. I couldn’t get my incision wet; but I still hadn’t cleaned up from my all-day vomitfest. Warm water and soap have never felt so good.
Afterwards, I told Dave I wanted to listen to my Ipod and sleep, so we turned off the lights and he fell into a snoring slumber. I laid in bed and cried and cried and cried. I felt like such a failure.
I wanted to have a vaginal delivery, but my body let me down. I’d barely held him, hadn’t bonded with him, and couldn’t breastfeed him. Not only that, Dave was getting to do all the fun stuff I wanted to do, like his first bath and his first bottle. He was Super Dad, and I was Useless Mom.
I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, and no one ever even knew.
Friday, August 29th, 2008
I wanted to go home. At 6:30, I ate a normal breakfast of toast and cereal, and got myself dressed for the day. I was still bleeding like a stuck pig (and wearing those dreadful bulky pads – as a tampon girl, I hated those freaking pads), but was bound & determined I could go home.
At 9:00, the doctor came to see me. He thought my blood pressure was still borderline high, made me promise to do daily monitoring, and agreed to discharge me. Hooray! I was going home!!!
Around 10:30, the nursery nurse brought Mason back in to attempt to nurse again. While I whipped out my boob like a big, swollen heifer, she begged us to stay another day in the hospital. She said Mason’s billirubin levels were still too high, and he really needed another full day under the ultraviolet lights. I wanted to have home health care deliver a billi blanket to the house; but she said they were nowhere near as strong as the hospital lights & he needed to get the extra bilirubin out of his system as soon as possible.
I wanted to come home; but couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him in the hospital another night by himself. So, we agreed to stay in the hospital another night; and called our family to tell them to stay away (since he had to stay under the bili lights around the clock, except to eat).
Around 2:00, Dave left to run home and take a shower and bring back some extra clothes for both of us. While he was gone, the nursery nurse came in and asked if Mason could have a pacifier. We really didn’t want to give him one; but she said he was crying and inconsolable, and they needed to do something to try and calm him down. My heart sank, but I gave her my okay.
About 15 minutes later, I went down to the nursery and sat next to the ultraviolet lights. I held his hand and stroked his head, and talked softly to him. He would calm down for a few minutes, then start fussing again. I’m sure he was scared. They put protective eyewear over his eyes, so he couldn’t see a thing. He’d only been in this world for 48 hours, and already, he couldn’t see and we couldn’t hold him. It was heartbreaking.
Friday night, Dave and I walked down to the hospital cafeteria for some “normal” food. It was so nice to get out of the hospital room, even though it was only for an hour. I was starting to feel like a caged animal at the zoo.
After dinner, we sat with the baby for a little while and returned to our room to attempt to sleep. Because I had been given the okay to go home, the nurses didn’t need to check my blood pressure every hour. I still couldn’t sleep, though. I missed my little guy tossing and turning and moving around inside me. I missed him. I missed my little boy.
Saturday, August 30th, 2008
FINALLY, it was time to come home!!! Like a little kid’s first day of school, I woke up at 4:30 in the morning and was out of the shower and dressed by 6:00. They brought breakfast to the room, and I started getting antsy for the doctor to come and make his rounds. Both Mason and I needed to be discharged, and I couldn’t wait to fly the coop.
Around 10:30, my doctor finally showed up. We chitchatted for a few minutes, and he signed all the paperwork to get me out. Dave and I finished packing up our stuff, and headed down to the nursery to check on the baby one last time.
When we walked in, they told us that Mason’s doctor wouldn’t be able to discharge him until after 1:00. We were {this} close to a clean getaway! We spent a few minutes next to the ultraviolet lights again, and left the nursery feeling tired and dejected.
We walked back to the room, and got in a HUGE fight. Dave was so tired he couldn’t hold his head up; yet he refused to lay on the hospital bed and take a nap. I was wide awake, fueled by pure adrenaline, and wanted to kill him. After five nights, I was FINALLY going to be able to go home; and he was going to fall asleep behind the wheel and kill us all.
I left the room and went back to the nursery, and sat with the baby until I was done crying. Again, this was not how it was supposed to be. We were supposed to be happy; not exhausted and in pain.
At 3:00, his doctor finally showed up and did another exam. She said we could take him home, but he needed to come back to the hospital on Sunday and Monday for followup visits. His bilirubin levels were coming down, but they wanted to keep an eye on him since he was so little.
We were almost ready to leave, when the nurse realized they had never taken his hospital photo. We put on a clean sleeper, woke him up, and waited for her to snap his picture. I was starting to think I was never going to taste fresh air again.
But finally, finally, we had him in his carseat and were ready to come home. One stop at Walgreen’s for my new blood pressure meds and one stop at McDonald’s for a large Coke later, we were home.
The dogs didn’t know what to make of him. I sat on the sofa, so they could jump all over me and get some love (since I had been gone 6 days, they were overjoyed to see me again). Dave came in with the baby, and they gave him a quick sniff and lost interest. No agression, no jealousy, just a curious disinterest.
My parents came to visit and brought us pizza for dinner, but I was so tired I could barely eat. I was still trying unsuccessfully to breastfeed, and was starting to crack from the pressure. After they left, we went to bed and started the never-ending parade of hourly feedings with a colicky baby.
Looking Back
It’s been 3 weeks, and I still can’t believe he’s mine. It’s been hard, but I’m still so grateful to have this little boy in my life. I only wish people would stop asking us when we’re going to start trying for number 2. As of right now, I don’t really want a number two.
Breastfeeding didn’t work out. I was trying to feed him every 2 hours; but he was frustrated and would scream and push me away whenever I brought him to my chest. So I would give him a bottle (an hour-long process), then try and pump for another 30 minutes. It was just too much. I still harbor these feelings of incredible guilt – like I didn’t try hard enough or I should have rented a hospital pump or I should have been massaging my nipples for weeks before his birth. At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter, though; since he’s growing like a weed with the formula. As of yesterday, he’s up to 8-1/2 pounds.
Wednesday (September 17th) was my official due date. Since he lost a pound in the hospital, I’m guessing he would have been around 9-1/2 pounds, had I carried him all the way to my due date. People comment on how little he is; but I just smile and say “He didn’t feel that little coming out!”. Heh. Something about the details of giving birth makes people shut up and walk the other way. Thank God for that!
And I thank God every day that he’s here. Even when I’m exhausted and running on fumes, I love him more than I ever thought possible. Already, I can’t remember what life was like before he got here.
From the bottom of my heart, if you’re struggling with infertility, I hope that your baby finds you. Don’t ever give up. No matter what it takes, no matter what it costs, no matter how many pennies you’ve thrown into fountains or wishes you’ve made on stars; don’t give up hope. Your heart will fill with love again.
