Today's post is the 10th in the birthing series. It was written by Valerie, a wife and stay-at-home mom. Originally from Long Island, NY, she now
lives in North Dakota with her husband, three daughters, and two very active
puppies.
We made the decision to start trying for baby #1 in October 2007.
We were married for about a year and a half and living in the UK. In December,
I went to the doctor for a check-up and any advice to get us started. We found
out we were pregnant in February and in April, we moved back to the US. We
traveled via the Queen Mary II; never go on a cruise while you already have
morning sickness! For the whole week, I lived on ginger candy.
The pregnancy went about as well and uneventful as a pregnancy can
go. We didn’t want to find out the gender, but we were living 1800 miles from
our families and they persuaded us to find out so they could throw a shower and
send us gifts before the birth. We had her name picked out early as well. Emma,
after his grandma, and Grace, after mine. We just hadn’t agreed on the
spelling.
She was due on November 3rd. On Saturday November 1st, we went to dinner with some friends for one last night out as a
couple. Halfway through dessert, about 8 p.m., I had my first real contraction.
Another mother at the table recognized it right away. My face turned pale and
she told me that I was officially in labor. After dinner, we went straight home
to make sure all the last minute things were taken care of and to give our
neighbors an extra house key so they could walk the dog. It was around 2 a.m.
when I thought my water broke and we headed to the hospital. Unfortunately, it
didn’t. I was just one of those lucky women who lost control of my bladder with
every contraction.
I had read What to
Expect When You’re Expecting, so I thought I knew everything. I had my birth
plan, my music, my pillow; I had it all planned out. I was going to have a drug-free
labor and a natural birth; boy was I wrong and completely uneducated. Around 8 a.m.,
12 hours into labor, I just wanted to go to sleep. I asked for something to
help ease the pain enough for me to sleep and I was given a shot of morphine.
It was a complete waste; it barely numbed the contractions and wore off in
about two hours. Nurses were in and out what felt like every five minutes and I
didn’t get any sleep. By 8 p.m., 24 hours into labor and 36 hours of being
awake I gave up, I asked for the epidural. As amazing as it was to not feel any
pain, I still couldn’t sleep. In my head, I understood what was about to happen. But, I wasn't
mentally prepared for the reality of not being able to move.They also hooked up a
Pitocin drip without even asking or telling me they were doing it. I found out
later it was standard procedure with the epidural.
Around 10 p.m., my water broke. It was 26 hours into labor and I was
only dilated to three. They hooked the monitor to her head because they were having
trouble monitoring her. I was told around 6 a.m. that her heart rate was dropping
and they were scheduling the C-section for 9 a.m. I cried both tears of anger and
joy. I couldn’t understand why my body didn’t want to work, but I was so
grateful this traumatic event had an end in sight. By the way, I was still
dilated to three.
It was now Monday, November 3rd. I cried all the way from labor and delivery to the operating
room. I don’t remember much in there. Everything seemed to move quickly and
robotically. I know she was delivered within minutes, but I only got to see her for
seconds. They brought her back to me over an hour later when I returned to
my room. The poor thing was starving and latched on immediately.
Those first
few days were terrible for me. The lack of sleep made the surgery recovery that
much worse. My amazing hubby had to do everything, including changing every
diaper for the first few days. I left the hospital Thursday and I’m pretty sure
that night was the first night I was able to get some real sleep in nearly a
week.
It turned out the cord was wrapped around her arm and it was
preventing her from dropping any further. Since this was the case, I was told I
wouldn’t need a C-section for future pregnancies. However, after a month or so,
the scar never healed right. It was constantly itchy, keloid, and still painful
in spots. I found out my insurance wouldn’t cover a tummy tuck or whatever it
was I needed to fix the scar. So, I decided that my next baby should be a
C-section so I could fix that scar. After about six months, I was still unable to
wear my jeans and the itchiness was unbearable. My first two are 18 months
apart. And that was mostly because the doctor recommended waiting nine months for
my body to heal from the first.
Baby girl #2 was a scheduled C-section that also did not go quite
as planned. On the way to dropping off our daughter with the sitter, we
witnessed a car accident. Talk about scary. Hubby went to help while I called
911. We were there for about a half hour, telling the police what we saw, and
ended up being about 15 minutes late to the hospital. I was wheeled down to the
OR at 11:30 and scheduled for noon. About 10 minutes later, the nurse came to me
and said my doctor was called to an emergency C-section and it would push me
back about an hour or so. Soon after, I was told there was a second emergency and I was pushed back again.
Meanwhile I was already hooked up to the IVs and this was causing me to use
the bathroom frequently. Baby #2 wasn’t born until 5 p.m. I was also starving
since they told me not to eat after midnight. I made it back to my room around
7:30 p.m. and hubby left to pick up our daughter from the sitter. The recovery
seemed a million times easier the second time around. I was well rested and mentally prepared. At the
time, we thought our family was complete.
It was a year or so later when I decided I wanted to try one last
time for a boy. This time I was told I needed a C-section because they wouldn’t
do a VBAC after two surgeries. Baby #3 turned out to be a third girl. I went into
the hospital at 6 a.m. and she was born just after 9 a.m. Her sisters
were there with my mom waiting for us when we got back to our room. The best part was
seeing their faces as they met their baby sister for the first time.
