January 26, 2002
You will never guess what happened to me this week.
I'm not sure how much time I will have to write this up, so it may be slightly truncated. He is sleeping contentedly on his little fleece blanket right now, but I am not sure how long it will last. When he wakes up, I like to pick him up and play with him, because I don't like thinking that he is wasting all that bright-eyed attentiveness on the wall or the ceiling.
Anyway, it's been kind of a long week or two! At my last doctor's appointment, she told me that she doesn't like to let gestational diabetics go past the 39th week of gestation, so if we didn't go into labor on our own before Wednesday the 23rd, she wanted to induce us then. I'm familiar with the risks to babies of diabetic moms, so we agreed that an induction would be best. However, I didn't really want to be induced, so Keith and I started looking into more natural ways to start labor. On Sunday the 20th, we went and got some evening primrose oil and black cohosh (that I never did take), and I tried some stimulation with a breast pump for awhile. It didn't seem to really have any effect, or so I thought at the time.
Then we went out for spicy Thai food, on the theory that spicy food might help start labor. I was in the bathroom at the restaurant doing my pre-meal insulin injection when I noticed some major leakage. At first I thought I was just having late-trimester incontinence (although I'd never had any trouble with that before), and then I realized that it was my water breaking. Holy cow! I was excited and nervous, and also a little embarrassed about how I was going to get back to my table. Luckily we were seated close to the bathroom, so I made it to the table and sat down, and sitting down seemed to stanch the flow. So I figured, might as well finish dinner, since we'd already ordered. Hey, it was our last chance to eat out at a restaurant for awhile, right? After dinner, I very quickly sort of walked-ran to the car, and in the process managed to completely soak my blue jeans.
When we got home, Keith started timing my contractions, which had become regular right after my water broke, and they were about five and a half minutes apart, and not terribly painful at this point. I settled in to watch the Golden Globe Awards (mindless entertainment) and he called my doctor's office to get further instructions. My doctor wanted me to go to the hospital to get my antibiotic IV started, as I had tested positive for Group B strep. (Nothing serious if you carry it, but the baby can contract it from the birth canal if you don't do the antibiotics.) So we started throwing stuff together for the hospital bag, which still wasn't packed, and about an hour and a half later we left for the hospital.
We got there around midnight, and they started the IV drip for the antibiotics. My contractions were still about five and a half minutes apart and still not too painful, although I was starting to have to breathe through some of them. I labored at about this rate until 5 AM, when they decided to start a Pitocin drip to get labor moving a little faster. Soon the contractions picked up in intensity and speed, although I was still able to handle them by breathing and doing relaxation exercises. However, by 10 AM or so, they were extremely intense, and I was having a lot of trouble. We tried using the Jacuzzi tub, but while it really felt good in between contractions, it did nothing to help with the contractions themselves. We also tried the birthing ball, which was pretty much the same. At this point, the contractions were so severe that I was completely unable to relax through them. I was more or less just grabbing on to the side of the bed and hanging on for dear life. I did not want to talk to anybody, look at anybody, or be touched by anybody.
The nurses who were on staff at this time knew that we had taken Bradley classes, which emphasize unmedicated labor, and one of them very tentatively asked, "Should we even talk about pain medication?" I thought about it for about two seconds and said, "Yes! Let's talk about it!" I had come to the realization that if I wasn't even in transition yet and I was already 1) terrified of the next contraction and 2) doubting my ability to go through with this birth, there was no way I was making it through without medication. Keith supported my decision totally, and about 45 minutes later I got an epidural. I remember saying to Keith, "My God, it's like in the Wizard of Oz when they went from black and white to color!" I could still feel the contractions, but the sharp edge had been taken off the pain. I was finally able to get some sleep, which helped immensely. (I had been awake for over 24 hours at that point.)
Right before administering the epidural, I'd had my first pelvic exam, which revealed that I was 6cm dilated, 40% effaced, and that the baby had not descended at all. I figured that was a good amount of dilation, though, so I thought I was making good progress. I labored through the rest of the afternoon. The contractions continued to get more intense, although with the epidural I was easily able to breathe through them and control them. I was checked again around 4 PM, and was still 6cm dilated, although fully effaced. The baby still had not descended. At 6 PM, I was checked yet again and found that I had made no progress since the last exam. This meant that I had been laboring for 8 hours with no change in dilation. Also the doctor found that my cervix was starting to swell, which indicated that the baby's head was pushing on it unproductively, possibly because the head was too big or he was mispositioned. I was feeling a lot of pressure and an urge to bear down with each contraction now, and this concerned the doctor, as I wasn't anywhere near being fully dilated. It was at this time that he said we might be looking at a C-section.
The doctor left the room while Keith and I discussed it. Obviously neither of us really wanted a C-section, but on the other hand, I was making zero progress and I didn't want to endanger the baby. Also I was extremely sick of being in labor and getting nowhere. The doctor had mentioned to us that at the beginning of each contraction, the baby's heart rate dipped slightly. He said that this was a "sign of stress, and not of distress", but that since we weren't even to the really stressful part (from the baby's perspective), which is pushing, he was concerned it could turn into distress. When the doctor came back into the room, we asked him a few questions -- do you think changing positions will help? in your opinion, will I make further progress if we just wait it out? -- and his answers were negative. He felt that if we were going to make progress, I would have dilated at least somewhat further since 10 AM, but I hadn't. So we went ahead and agreed to the C-section. I was mostly just excited at the thought that soon I would get to meet my baby. I had no real negative emotions about the C-section at all -- I had done my best to push the baby out, and it wasn't happening, so we made the decision to get him out the other way.
They wheeled me down to the OR, with Keith following behind us in scrubs (he is very cute in scrubs, by the way), and started administering the anesthesia through my epidural block. Pretty soon I was completely numb from the waist down. It was a bizarre sensation. They'd put a cool washcloth on my abdomen and ask what I felt, and I could only feel pressure, not texture or temperature or anything else. They drew a curtain across my chest so that I couldn't see the operation (Keith could, though) and then they began.
As promised, I only felt pressure, and a tugging/pulling sensation. After about ten minutes, the tugging and pulling was EXTREMELY strong, and then all of a sudden I heard a baby crying! My baby! Our baby! I burst into tears because I was so overwhelmed with joy. Keith went over to be with Zeke and before long I saw our little boy, being held in Keith's arms. He was crying when they pulled him out of the womb, but then Keith started singing a song to him that he'd sung to my tummy many times during the pregnancy, and Zeke quieted right down. He was just perfect, in every way.
After they stitched me up, they took us back to the room, and we commenced with breastfeeding, which is also a totally amazing experience. We've had some issues with getting Zeke to latch on properly, but we are overcoming them, and breastfeeding is actually going pretty well. It's one of my favorite parts of the day, which is good, because it's also one of the most time-consuming parts of the day. I don't mind, though.
Anyway, we spent a lot of time looking at him and noticing all his little features and how he has Keith's forehead and my nose and how he has exquisitely long fingers and toes, and his reddish-brown hair and big dark eyes. It was just incredible, realizing that Keith and I had made this little person.
We spent the next several days in the hospital recovering. We had planned to leave on Thursday, but wound up staying an extra day because Zeke's bilirubin levels were slightly high, and he looked a little yellow. But Friday's bili levels were down significantly, so we were able to take him home. Mostly we've been sleeping a lot, although we have had a few visitors. Zeke seems to be adjusting really well to life at home. He sleeps most of the time, but wakes up occasionally to stare at his surroundings and just in general be pleasant and interesting. He tends to sleep for three hours and then wake up (or be woken up) for a feeding, with intermittent and unpredictable wakeful periods. In the hospital, he was sleeping for five and six hours straight at night, but then the pediatrician told us we should probably wake him for feedings at least every three hours, because breastmilk is one of the best ways to cure jaundice. So that's what we've been doing. She said that after he regains his birth weight, we can go to more of a "feed on demand" schedule where we let him sleep for longer if he wants to.
Oh yes, his birth weight -- after having been told that we should expect a gigantic huge 11-pound baby, because of my gestational diabetes, we wound up with a little 8-lb bundle of love. He was down to 7lb 4oz at one point, but the day we left the hospital, he was 7lb 6.5oz, so he is regaining his birth weight slowly but surely. He is so tiny that I can't even believe it! We took three going-home outfits to the hospital (in case one of them didn't fit), and NONE of them fit. They were all huge on him. We had to dress him in a T-shirt and wrap him in a fluffy blanket for the going-home ride. Half of the newborn size clothes we have don't fit him either. He is a tiny little guy.
My life has changed so much more than I ever even expected. Yes, you have nine months of pregnancy to mentally and emotionally prepare for the birth of this baby, but it's not enough and it could never be enough. Pregnancy is all about taking care of yourself, more or less. There's this abstract concept of "baby", but it never seems real. Actually cradling a baby in your arms is the most unbelievable and amazing feeling in the world. When he stares up at me with those big dark eyes, or pats my chest as he nurses, I just want to melt. He is so tiny and helpless, but we love him so much.
Anyway, that's my story. I cannot promise frequent updates from here on out, but you all should really be used to that at this point. Thanks to everyone who has sent messages of love and support; we really appreciate it.