As most of you know, I was 8 days overdue with sweet baby Jack. The real story begins at my 40 week appointment. Stuart and I went, with our hospital bags in the trunk, hoping we would be sent on to the hospital because my cervix had magially opened and thinned and I was in active labor and didn't even know it. Psh! Yeah right.
Dr. Dalton is an awesome doctor, I am not knocking him a bit. But I was a wee bit irritated when I went to my appointment, got "checked" and was sent home.
"Norah," he said (I have never corrected him or the nurse and let them know I go by Kate).
"Norah, you are not in active labor. Still thick and high. Maybe a centimeter dilated. Come back next week. I will be in Colorado, so you will see my nurse practitioner."
I remember thinking to myself "Well, if he is not the most vactionin' son of a gun that ever was..." Just the week before, he had been in Mexico. Must be nice to jet set around the world while your poor, pregnant patient just wants to have her dang baby. Ohh woe is me. Anyway...
The next week was spent in a fury of mall walking, snow shoveling, and kitchen floor scrubbing. I had already taken off work, and was not willing to go back in my swollen miserable state. So, I got moving. And, naturally, nothing worked.
I also did a lot of googling. I googled "dangers of going past due date", and "testing after due date" and the like. And, I began to worry. I tried to schedule a non-stress test and ultrasound myself. Foolish me. You'd think a nurse would know better. There are appropriate channels to go through for these tests, and of course, unless my doctor prescribed them, I couldn't have them. When the receptionist kindly informed me, I silently screamed "MY DOCTOR IS IN FLIPPIN COLORADO!!" but politely said "Thanks." and hung up before the tears started streaming down my face.
The 41-week mark FINALLY rolled around. Stuart and I went to see Dr. Dalton's nurse practitioner, who checked me, said I was MAYBE two centimeters, but showed no signs of active labor. I inquired about testing, and she scheduled me for some tests later that afternoon. Stuart and I had some time to kill, so we went to the mall, had lunch, and returned.
First was the non-stress test. For the unfamiliar, this is a test that measures the baby's heartrate, and his response to contractions. I was shocked when his heartrate was in the 190's. I remember saying to Stuart, "That's too high. It's not supposed to be that high." A minute or two later, the technician returned, and told me they wanted to do an ultrasound NOW. I knew something was wrong.
The next few minutes were a blur. They slapped gel on me, found the baby, checked to make sure he looked ready for the outside world, and said to me:
"You're having a baby today."
Saaay what? As it turns out, poor baby Jack had run out of juice. Literally. My amniotic fluid index was 4, and anything less than 5 is too low. We activated the phone chain by calling our mothers, and headed to the hospital to be induced.
After lots of paperwork and that kind of nonsense, my nurse started my pitocin at 1:30 PM. Light cramps started, but nothing horrible. Before long, both of the grandmothers-to-be had arrived. Other family and friends filtered in and out throughout the day, and the contractions gradually grew stronger, to the point where I didn't want any more company.
I had been struggling with whether or not to get an epidural, but sometime in the night, when I was 6 centimeters dilated, my cramps got pretty bad, and I decided to go for it. Well, big mistake. I had heard how wonderful epidurals were, how all you feel is "pressure" and yadda yadda. Mine didn't work. It couldn't have. My left hip and leg began to ache. The achiness grew into a stabbing and throbbing. Maybe it was laying on a nerve. I don't know enough about epidurals to say what was wrong, but something was.
To make matters worse, Jack decided that he liked it best when I laid on my right side, so I was unable to compress my left leg (the one thing that made it feel better). My leg pain was by far worse than my contractions, if that tells you anything.
I will spare all of the rest of the details, but instead give you a condensed version of what happened:
Mom, Pam (Stuart's mom), Stuart, and my stepdad all stayed the night with me. Nobody really slept. Stuart spent most of the early morning hours in the bathroom (combo of nerves and lack of sleep, we think).
The docs broke my water at 8 centimeters.
Sometime around noon that next day I finally got that "urge to push" that everyone talks about it. For me, it wasn't really an urge to push, it was more like the overwhelming feeling that I was going to poop in my pants. It was...the urge to hold it in.
We called the nurse in to let her know. Approximately 57 people swarmed into my room.
My mom stood on my right side, Stuart and his mom stood on the left, and I hiked my legs up into the stirrups. Until this point, modesty had been very important to me. That absolutely flew out the window. I pushed for about 20 minutes. Honestly, I have no idea how long it was. I know it wasn't many pushes, though. It's all such a blur. Probably post-traumatic stress syndrome-esque if you ask me. Who wants to remember what feels like pushing a bowling ball out of your hoo-ha.
The pushing was hard and intense. The nurses and doctors wanted 3 pushes during every contraction. but the third push made me feel light-headed and like I was going to pass out. In comes my friend, the oxygen mask. It definitely helped.
When Jack crowned, the pain was inexplicable. Absolutely unbearable. Like a burning, ripping, tearing pain that makes you want to knock yourself upside the head so you don't have to feel it anymore. Really, it was THAT bad. And I'm not a wimp, either.
And then...a few moments later, at 12:38 PM, relief. And a baby! A long, skinny baby with a strong cry and his daddy's face. My precious, sweet baby. 7 pounds, 8 ounces and 21.25 inches long. I'm not sure I cried. Stuart claims I looked down as he was coming out, and said "OH GOD!" but I don't have much memory of anything--well, I remember being stitched up but that's not worth talking about--ugh!-- except the moms leaving to get some rest, and Stuart and I being left alone with our sweet boy for two hours.
Two whole hours of blissful skin-to-skin with our beautiful, beautiful baby. I honestly think he was starving inside of me. He latched on and nursed for an hour. He was a natural at the whole breastfeeding thing, which was such a relief because I had worried and fretted over it for months before he was born.
He was perfect, and I was one proud, tired momma.
We stayed in the hospital for 48 hours. It was a busy two days, spent doing lots of nursing, having lots of visitors, and doing very, very little sleeping. Talk about intense. Then, discharged home. Jack's weight had dropped to 7 pounds 1 ounce on discharge day, but by the following Monday, he was up to 7 pounds, 10 ounces. My little piggy! The feeding-every-hour routine had paid off!
Oh, there is so much more to tell, but this is a good start. Hopefully I will do a better job of updating now that we are in a semi-routine at home.
Until next time...I leave you with a few pictures from Jack's Big Debut. :)
Moments after his birth.
Precious gift from God!
a little size comparison :)
Jack with his Mimi.
Jack with his Nana.
Snuggling with Mommy.
HOME!
Jack roots on everything, even Daddy's nose!
Pretty boy.
My boys.
