Sunday, March 6, 2011

Induction Day

At 1am on June 21st, 2010 we got the call from the hospital to come in for our induction.  We were still awake anyhow, with bags all packed and in the car, so we took off to have our baby!  We had a quiet drive there, in awe at the fact that we would be bringing home our baby.  We arrived at the hospital around 1:30am and finished checking in by 2am.  The nursing staff hooked me up to an IV with some antibiotics for the group b strep, a fetal monitor, and a cervix check.  I was dilated to 3cm already, so only 7 more to go.  Around 7am they started the pitocin, and moved me into a labor and delivery room.  I started having contractions regularly and they kept upping the pitocin.  At 8am they told me someone would be in to break my water to "help get things going".  (Were they not going already?)  I remember asking questions about them breaking my water, feeling concerned about it, and everyone assured me that this was the next step.  So of course I agreed, because it seemed like the only "option".  About 30 minutes later things really started to pick up.  Contractions were becoming painful, I could no longer talk through them, and every time I tried to move the nurse would come in and tell me to be still because the fetal monitor was coming off.

One and a half hours of severe contractions later, I caved and ordered the epidural.  The unfortunate part was I was 3rd in line and had to wait almost 2 hours to get it.  The whole epidural process was unpleasant. From the rude anesthesiologist telling someone in labor to relax their back to the legs going numb, just about everything involved with it made me uncomfortable.  With epidural in place I was able to nap for an hour or two.  Around 3pm I was checked and was told that I was at 10cm.  They said that the baby was sunny side up and needed to come down a little before I pushed.  They put me on the peanut ball to allow the baby to come down.  About 30 minutes on each side.  After that they told me I was ready to start pushing.  The baby was doing good, I had an OK practice push, I was happy with OK since I couldn't feel hardly anything. They were still increasing the pitocin at this point too.  I remember my husband saying, "she's almost here!" and my response was, "not yet."  I had seen enough baby shows to know that about 50% of the time (that was my brain exaggerating) it all ended in a c-section.  So I pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed.  I was sure that I had popped a blood vessel in my eye from pushing.

What felt like 20 minutes later, my doctor came in and said, "Well, this isn't working now is it?  I can let you keep trying for a little bit longer but this baby isn't coming out this way."  I was discouraged.  Apparently I had been pushing for almost 1 1/2 hours with little to no progress.  I kept trying, for another hour, until I was totally exhausted.  My doctor came in and said it was time to call it.  (my birth attempt was dead, at least that's what I was thinking)  He also mentioned then that the baby never moved from the +1 station.  Only a little after pushing.  This is when the questions started going through my head. Why was I pushing in the first place?  Why had we not waited longer?

I did not shed a tear as the decision was made to do a c-section.  I was tired.  I had tried.  People started to file into the room within seconds.  As if they were waiting right outside my room for me to fail.  The anesthesiologist came in and started injecting something cold without telling me, which was the only thing I panicked about.  He told me (after I asked) that it was going to make me numb.  We passed my mom in the hallway who was going to leave because it was getting so late.  I saw tears creep up in her eyes and I told her it was OK to go if she needed too, that things would be fine.  That almost made me cry seeing my mom.  I wasn't expecting it.  I had to leave Dan for a couple minutes while they prepped me for surgery.  I was in a bright, cold steel room with strangers and they were blaring some awful country music.  I could still feel my toes and that made me panic a little, but they assured me that everything else was numb and not to worry.

The next thing I knew Dan was back by my side.  I was shaking uncontrollably from the medication, but I was still anxious to meet our daughter.  I told Dan it smelled like the dentist office in there.  He said nothing.  He later told me it was because the smell was coming from the laser they used to cut my flesh to get the baby out.  I'm glad he said nothing.  It took four hard, operating table bouncing pulls, for the doctors to get the baby out.  All the while another doctor had to go in vaginally and push the opposite direction to get her out.  (It makes me wonder how close she actually was.)

Within seconds she was out and screaming.  To my surprise, my doctor did not show her to me, he just passed her off to be cleaned up.  I looked over to the pink screaming hands and feet (that was all I could see) and told Dan to get over there and make sure she's okay.

Dan came back over and told me that she was healthy, beautiful, and that she had the smallest birthmark on her side. That made me smile.  Which is apparently when he took this horrid picture.  Between my puffiness, the worst glasses choice for childbirth, and the hair cap, I think I looked like a quite happy man going through surgery!

What seemed like at least 20 minutes later they brought our little bundle over for Dan to hold.  I tried to look at her.  I was too tired. Too drugged.  I don't remember if I actually looked at her face or not.  All I remember is the anesthesiologist complaining that his iphone email wasn't working properly. That and I was pretty sure I had pulled a muscle in my neck from shaking so hard.  He then informed us that if the shaking got too bad that he could give me something to make it stop.  I kept dozing in and out.  There my new baby was and I couldn't look at her!  Time went on and our new family sat there in silence.
After what seemed like hours, we were taken into the post op room where we decided we should name this child.  I still don't remember looking at her face all too well, but I remember it was chubby and round and that her little face reminded me of my Grandma.  This baby was G.
We had a blur of family coming in ogling over the baby.  (my mom stayed to make sure I was OK, I was glad she did)
Some time during the ogling I started to "come to" and this is the first time I remember seeing her face.  Its still spotty, but this picture is in my memory.  People were saying they were proud of me and I couldn't understand why.  What did I do?  I didn't birth this baby.
I felt like I was going to die from dehydration, and the nurses wouldn't give me water, only ice chips.  Thanks!  Like that helps.  I was taking mouth fulls and trying to get them to melt, but it wasn't helping.  Not one bit.  After family started to filter out, they said I needed to try and nurse her.  I thought they were crazy!  I couldn't keep my arms still, let alone try and nurse our new, fragile little G!  The first attempt was pretty much a nurse holding the baby with one hand and my boob with the other, trying to get G to latch.  It didn't work.  They wrapped her back up and we moved into our recovery room where we would spend the remainder of our stay.  Happy Birthday to our 8lb 9oz perfect baby girl.

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