Welcome to the World, LRG

When I was pregnant with E, she measured 3 days ahead at her 20 week ultrasound. She was born three days after her due date. L measured 1 week ahead at his 20 week ultrasound. I shouldn't have been surprised then, that labor didn't start until 5:11am on April 22, one week past his due date.

Since I'd been having contractions on and off for two weeks, I wasn't really expecting anything to happen. In fact, I was planning on calling the doctor to induce the following Wednesday, since my insurance would be running out at the end of the month, and we wanted to make sure we had double coverage for the duration of our hospital visit.

I took a shower at 6:30, with contractions about 5-7 minutes apart.

I went for a walk at 7:30, contractions the same, some much stronger than others, but still consistent.

Paul took E over to the nanny's, and we went for another walk. Things were still about the same, so when we got back home, we called the doctor. She told us to come to the office to do an exam and see if I was in active labor.

When we got there, she told me I was 6cm, and I needed to get to the hospital, probably sooner rather than later. We still had to stop at the store for a few things, then went home, picked up our luggage, had a snack, and headed to the hospital.

We arrived around 12:30 or so. My nurse, Helen Louise, reminded me of my friend Lucy. She had an awesome, dry sense of humor, which was nice. I got hooked up to the monitor, and got my first dose of penicillin, since I tested positive for GBS. I hate that stuff, but whatever.

Things never got awful. There were a few contractions that Paul had to help me breathe through, but nothing at all like when I was in labor with E. They never got any closer than about two minutes. It was pretty crazy. And my water hadn't broken yet. I was pretty sure that was why labor was so easy. I decided to forgive L for coming late and making me have contractions all last week.

I sat in the tub for a while, expecting to go into transition at any moment. Contractions were strong, but still about two minutes apart. I didn't feel the need to drop the f bomb, cry for my mom, or tell Paul to take me home (that's what I did with E). In fact, when it came time to push, I was surprised. I even ignored the urge for three contractions before I told Paul I thought it was time.

They covered me in towels and wheeled me back to the room. I climbed on the bed, looked at the clock and saw it was about 5:00 or so. Nice. I figured I'd have a 12-13 hour labor & delivery. Much better than with E. It must be true what they say about second children.

I decided to use the birthing bar. I was too tired from the hard labor with E that I couldn't squat when pushing time came, so I was determined to do it this time. I pushed about three or four times, and it hurt like a bitch. I felt like nothing was happening. I kept saying I couldn't do it, but Paul, Dr. Kawahara & Helen Louise assured me that I was, and things were moving along.

With the next push, my water broke. Out poured amniotic fluid and meconium. I thought it was strange that so much meconium would come out. I worried that because he was a week late, he was swimming in mec, and there would be complications with that.

With the next push, more meconium came out "like toothpaste," my doctor later explained. My doc turned about three shades of white. The nurse said something like "Is he vernal?" or "vertex?" or some medical v-term. At that moment, my doctor shoved her entire arm up my vagina. Well, maybe not her entire arm, but it sure felt like it. I was thinking that maybe he was facing the wrong way and she was going to turn him to face the right way. Instead, she gave me the bad news. "Dawn, your baby is breech - frank breech." Which means he was folded in half, with his feet by his head, and his little bottom coming down the birth canal.

I think I went into shock at that moment.

Within a minute or two, I had a shot in my arm that stopped contractions completely. I knew what was going to happen next and I was terrified.

They catheterized me, which is always a humiliating experience.

The anesthesiologist came in to explain what he was going to do and to get me to sign the release papers. I don't think I was really listening. Everything was spinning and all I could think about was the safety of my baby.

My main questions were about who would be holding our son after he was ripped out of me, and when I would get to hold him and nurse him. I was very worried about that.

I don't know how long it took for everything to get ready, but they wheeled me down to the OR, told Paul to wait outside and started prepping me for surgery.

It was cold and very bright in the operating room. The only other operation I've ever had was at the dentist to have my wisdom teeth removed, so this was all very new to me. And it was fucking freezing. And my husband wasn't there. Where was my husband? I kept asking for him, but nobody answered.

The anesthesiologist was ready to put in the spinal. I had to sit up and curl over my belly. Helen Louise hugged me close and whispered very gently into my ear, calming me. Since they weren't producing my husband, I made my doctor hold my hand through the ordeal. I'm sure she had to do other things. Thankfully, she saw my fear and obliged. And then I suddenly couldn't feel my feet. And I was even more freaked out.

Eventually, they let my husband in. That was a relief. They had him sit by my head. We held hands. I heard lots of weird noises, smelled something burning, waited and worried. I could feel pressure, but no pain. That was weird.

At 6:18pm, I felt a whole lot of weight leave my body, and second later, I heard my son cry. The doctor who performed the surgery (Dr. San Miguel) said "Wow, he was really breech!" (because apparently there are different degrees of breech) They held him up for me and he looked enormous. My first words were "Did I just give birth to a three month old?"

They cleaned him up, weighed and measured him. He peed all over the nurse, which was funny in the face of all the craziness. He weighed in at a whopping 9lbs, 9oz, was 20.5 inches long and had a head circumference of 15 1/4 inches. So, I probably wouldn't have been able to birth him anyway. At least not as a breech. If he'd been head down, things may have been a little different. Of course, if he had been head down, he may have arrived sooner.

Once he was clean, they took him and my husband away, and I waited while they removed my placenta and sewed me up. At first, I couldn't understand why they were giving me pitocin, and then remembered the whole placenta thing.

My placenta was on the front of my uterus, which had made it difficult for the doctors and midwives on my team to notice when he had turned breech. He was head down at the 20-week ultrasound, and I was being kicked in all the right places, so there were no concerns, and everything felt correct.

After I was put back together, I started shaking like a crazy fool. Probably from the shock. They covered me in warm blankets, and took me back to my room. I continued to shake for a good hour or so. At some point, my husband finally arrived with my son and I got to hold him. He was the most beautiful thing in the world, even if he did have a gigantic noggin.

The anesthesiologist told me that I would be able to wiggle my toes in about 45 minutes to an hour, and it would take about 4 hours for the meds to wear off. Every time the nurse asked me if I could wiggle my toes and I couldn't, I freaked out just a little bit more. What if I can never wiggle my toes? What if I'm paralyzed for life? How will I be able to care for my children? What will that do to my husband? I won't be able to hike, or ride my bike, or, or, do ANYTHING!

After about two hours, I could finally wiggle my toes, and I started feeling much better about that.

L had some trouble with latch. E was a natural, so I never knew that I didn't know how to teach a baby to nurse. The second night was difficult, as I fumbled with my nipple and a screaming baby. Luckily, the night nurse helped me out, and things got much easier from there.

He's a very easy-going baby. He sleeps well, has taken to his dad (and lets him soothe him), and when he's done nursing, he's done. It's very nice.

I think we've adjusted to the trauma, though I often feel like it's a little surreal and I was robbed of the childbirth experience. It also sucks that I can't go for long walks just yet, and I had to take some heavy drugs for a while. Healthy baby, healthy mama. That's what we are, and that's most important.

When I'm holding him and he looks at me and starts a little smile that shows his dimple, it doesn't matter anymore. I'll do anything for you, little guy. If sacrificing my idea of the perfect birth is what it takes to guarantee your health and safety, then so be it. Happy birthday, and here's to many more birthdays to come!

The Second Journey

It's my 37th birthday today. I had been feeling funny all week -- not being able to finish a meal, crying over stupid things...not the typical PMS. I just had a feeling, so I peed on a stick.

And there you have it, Belchgator #2 is on his or her way.

Paul and I only just started trying for #2 a couple weeks ago, after Jennifer had her baby and Ian's first birthday party. Paul said "It would be fun to have a little boy." I think it would be nice to have the matching set. We'll be happy with whomever comes along, and we're hopeful the new baby is just as easy as E was.

I sent Paul a picture message of the pee stick because I couldn't wait for him to come home to tell him. Don't you just love modern technology?

My dad & gramma are in town this week. It will be hard to keep the secret, but I think I'll manage. Sometimes it's nice to have a little secret.

I really hope I don't barf every day like last time....

E's Birth Story

I'm writing this a couple months post-partum, but I figured it would be best to date it on her birthdate.

E was due Monday, November 3rd. My last day of work was Friday, October 30th. I was planning on working until I went into labor, but I was having trouble getting down on the floor with the kiddos, and then getting back up again. I was ENORMOUS!

On Monday the 3rd, I had a doctor's appointment with Adria, one of the midwives. She swept my membrane. It's a simple (but painful) little procedure where they put their finger in between the cervix and the amniotic sac and do a little swipe. That usually helps labor start.

I thought for sure I would have the baby on election day, or at least be in labor. It's one of my favorite days of the year, so I figured the baby would come just in time for me to miss out on watching the election returns. At one point, I thought my water had broken. I called the answering service for the doctor. Dr. Gulick was on call. She informed me that it was probably just my mucous plug. I didn't have quite enough wetness for it to be my water.

I didn't want to attend the HOA board meeting the next day, so I was hoping she would come before that. She waited. I was pissed. I angrily took minutes, cursing the child. When I got home from the board meeting, I hung out on the couch watching TV with Paul. At around 10pm, I went into the kitchen to get something to drink. That's when I felt my first contraction. I didn't want to say anything. I wasn't even positive that it was a contraction. I'd had a few a couple weeks before after I tripped on the sidewalk at work and fell, but this one was different. The others felt more like bad gas. This one was a little lower, a little stronger, a little longer, and a little less painful. It felt like a warm wave of pressure in my pelvis. I tried not to think about it and went back to the couch, watching some cool program on PBS about these two guys who retraced Marco Polo's trek through China.

At 10:15-ish, I had another contraction. I looked at Paul, but kept silent.

At 10:30, another contraction. I walked to the bathroom and back.

At 10:45-ish, another contraction. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

At around 11, I had another contraction. I looked at Paul and said "Honey, I think I'm in labor."

We took a walk down the street and back, to make sure that I really was in labor. I smelled Pumkin Pie. Paul did not. I'm still trying to find another person who smelled pumpkin pie while they were in labor, because I'm sure it was a side-effect. I have not been successful.

At midnight, I called the answering service for the doctors, and Molly was on call. She told me in a very tired voice that it was too early to go to the hospital. I said "I know, I just wanted to let you know that it's started."

"OK, call back when contractions are five minutes apart."

I ate some leftover Thai food and tried to get some sleep.

When contractions were 6 minutes apart, I took a shower. When I got out, they were 5 minutes apart. An hour later, we called Molly. It was around 2 or 3AM.

"What are your plans for pain?" she asked.

"The whirlpool tub, breathing, walking, you know, all that natural stuff," I replied, certain that I would never cave to the epidural.

"Then you can stay at home until you feel you need to come to the hospital," she replied. She then told me that she would call them to let them know that I would be coming sometime that day.

We hung out at home until 6am, when contractions were coming two minutes apart. I was certain the baby would be born by 9am.

We arrived at the hospital at 6:15, where we were met by our nurse, Mary. She strapped me to the fetal monitor. My contractions had slowed to 5 minutes apart. I'm glad we waited before going to the hospital.
Because I had tested positive for group B Strep, I had to receive IV antibiotics every 4 hours. It hurt like a bitch going in. On the plus side, it took my mind off the contractions.

At 9:15, I went to the bathroom. Paul was with me. When I stood up from the toilet, Paul said "Honey, you're still peeing." I looked down and realized that my water broke. And then I realized just how stupid I was on election night when I thought my water broke. There is a big difference in the amount of fluid. I stood there, watching it pour out of me. Paul said "Shouldn't you be standing over the toilet so that it doesn't get all over the floor?"

"No, Mary has to see it. She has to make sure it's clear and doesn't smell bad."

"We could tell her that."

Mary was very nice. She said it was no problem and wiped everything up. Mary was an angel.

I was positive that the baby would be born by noon.

This is where things get a little fuzzy and Paul has to correct me on vital facts. Here is what I remember:

Mary had to take her lunch break. Before doing so, she checked my cervix, I was 5 centemeters and 100% effaced. I was crushed. I thought for sure I was farther along than that. Suddenly, I was worried that the baby wouldn't come until the next morning.

When the break nurse gave me my dose of antibiotics for the group b strep, she was not as nice as Mary. It hurt like a bitch and I yelled at her.

When Mary came back, things started to get more difficult. I could no longer breathe through the contractions on my own. I needed Paul to coach me. I sat on a therapy ball, with Paul on the bed, making me breathe the annoying heeee, heee, hoooo breaths that we learned in the childbirth class that I said I would never use. Little did I know that they were the perfect thing for that time.

I was very tired and ready to call Uncle for an epidural. I kept telling Paul that I was very tired and I just wanted to take a nap. I never spoke the "E" word. I simply wanted someone to know what I meant and put it in me before I could refuse it. Instead, Mary told me that we had options, and she told me what they were. I then said that first I had to go back to the jetted tub because that was our plan.

It took forever to get into the tub. Because there is just one on the maternity ward, and someone was in it when I said I wanted to use it, I not only had to wait for the person to be done with it, but I also had to wait for them to clean it out. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we were able to make our way down to the tub room.

When we got there, I had to pee so badly, that I couldn't hold it any longer and I peed all over the floor. Thankfully, it was tile. I then apologized to Paul a million times because I peed on his shoes. He just laughed. Little did I know that this was the beginning of the transition phase. Boy did it suck. You pretty much go from 7 to 10 centemeters in about an hour, and you lose all sense of sanity.

I screamed and cried and insisted that Paul take me home. I tried to divorce him. I cried for my mommy. I dropped the f bomb a million times. I told the entire hospital staff that I changed my mind and no longer wanted to have a baby. "I'm done! Take me home, now!" I said. It was pretty awful. A contraction would start before the last one would finish. There was no breathing exercise taught in class that could help me with this, and Mary knew it. She told Paul "just do whatever it takes to get her through this -- whatever she needs."

When transition was over, I felt this enormous desire to push, so I did. When I did, I screamed very loudly. Mary came in to the room and asked me if I felt the need to push. I told her "Feel it? I'm doing it!" She said it was time to go back our room for delivery. She got a wheelchair and another nurse to help. I got out of the tub and was ready to go, and they insisted on putting my hospital gown on me and covering me with sheets to go back down the hall.

"I don't care if I'm naked," I said.

"No, but somebody else might," the other nurse replied.

When we got back to the hospital room, I immediately tore the gown off, saying, "I don't want anything touching me!" and I crawled onto the bed, grabbing onto the back and squatting to push. I thought that would work for me, but I was so tired, I kept collapsing and sitting down.

The nurses convinced me that I should be on my back. I obliged, even though I had this huge mental block about delivering on my back. It made no sense to me, since gravity is against you, and I've heard it's hard to get the head through when you're on your back. So, when the next contraction came, I did nothing. In fact, I did nothing for the next few contractions. The nurses tried everything, including bringing in a mirror so I could see the baby's head -- thinking that would entice me to push. Nope. One of the nurses had this idea of a kind of tug-o-war with a towel, which did get me to push. However, the pain was so intense, I let go of the towel. I didn't want to do that again.

My doctor arrived sometime in all of this, wearing an angry bunny tee shirt. I love my doctor. She was pretty calm, even though time was ticking on and the chances of them having to do some intervention to get the baby out were increasing.

At some point, I suggested laying on my side. That seemed to work much better. That, and the fact that my new nurse was a super-nanny type with a british accent who told me that I had to hold my breath and push to the count of ten. When I stopped pushing before then, she'd yell "I didn't get to ten! Let's do it again!"

3 Months and Counting...

I've hit the 3 month mark. Three more months until my due date. I'm entering into the home stretch -- the third trimester. It's a little daunting.

The Belchigator was up all day yesterday, beginning at 4am. I must've slept a total of 30 minutes between 4 & 6. For the rest of the day, she did back flips, summersaults and high kicks. She must have known it was my birthday.

Paul bought me bling yesterday. I'm not a jewelery person. The most expensive piece I own is my wedding band, and it's about 1/10 the price of most people's engagement rings. When he said he wanted to get me jewelery, I was expecting to go to the Made in Oregon store and pick out a couple necklaces and earrings from the local artists... totalling about $35. Instead, we went to the Hawaiian jewelery store where I fell in love with a turtle pendant with a beautiful firey green opal in it. The price tag -- $839. That's more than our mortgage payment. I nearly shit myself and wanted to run screaming from the store. We finally settled on a plumeria pendant with a small diamond in the middle for a much more reasonable price. The five petals of the plumeria symbolize sincerity, faith, devotion, aspiration and surrender. We liked that.