Induction

Recap: Dr. L said that based on what Dr. C recommended, she felt it was best to induce a week early so that the baby would not get any bigger. If she couldn't use any tools to assist in delivery, the baby needed to get out. Otherwise, I'd have to have a C-section.

I didn't want a section, but more than that, I wanted a safe, healthy delivery of a safe, healthy baby. Whatever my doctors thought was best, I was on board 100%.

Both doctors seemed to think the early induction would be enough to let me deliver safely. I was glad to hear it.

My due date was December 8. They like to induce a week early, so that meant December 1: my dad's birthday. It was also the day my coworker was being induced.

Unfortunately, it looked like I was getting a 10 p.m. slot. The hospital was full of sections and inductions already. My coworker had a morning slot, so her daughter was born the same day. There was a slight chance that some women would deliver early, clearing the way for me. But no.

On Saturday, we went to dinner for my dad's birthday. We went back to their house for cake. Then, my nesting instinct was kicking in. We went to buy a table for the humidifier, a rug for the room, and blinds for the room. A student's mom dropped off a baby gift while we were gone. She hadn't realized that the Friday before Thanksgiving was my last day. It wasn't originally, but when we scrapped the due date in favor of the induction, it didn't make sense to me to go back for one day. So when I went on Thanksgiving break, I was on maternity leave.

Sunday had Mark working and so I went to my parents' house, as usual. Monday had us taking care of things around the house, resting, and my final NST appointment. I also had to go to my pre-op appointment. History, blood pressure, paperwork signing.

I woke up Tuesday and couldn't believe that that night was hospital time. I was nervous but scared but excited but terrified but pleased. I was tired of hauling myself in and out of bed, of needing Mark to shave my legs, of having to consider ingredients, of peeing so many times a day. But how terrifying is birth? Especially when our country has such high rates of mortality during childbirth.

I haven't mentioned it yet, but we didn't know what we were having. I didn't want to know for a few reasons. One was that if it was a girl, I didn't want pink everything. Oh it would happen later, but if I could head it off at the pass, then I would. Another reason is that if we're doing this only once, we should enjoy the full ride. Another reason: There's so few real surprises any more. Another? It pissed off my in-laws. Another? If I knew what I was having, I would get attached. I'd think of the baby by name. I'd imagine activities with him or her. And if something went wrong, well...

It drove everyone crazy. Surprisingly, Dr. L couldn't stand it haha. After I'd been to Dr. C for the big anatomy scans, she looked at the notes and knew.

When the baby had the reversed urine flow, I looked it up. 90% of the time, or something like that, it happens to boys. I originally felt I was having a girl. I'd changed my mind and started thinking it was a boy. Once I heard that, I was convinced it was a boy. But I had no proof.

It was exciting to finally know what this little person would be and look like. The last 4D ultrasound was close. I couldn't imagine life with this little person and was hoping I would get that chance.

We got IHOP for dinner because they said I could and should eat something, just nothing major. Pancakes sounded perfect. I took a shower and watched Mark hang one set of blinds. I intended to help, but I was too uncomfortable. Soon enough, it was time to go. We grabbed our bags and got in the car. We checked in on the women's floor and were hurried to my room. I had my SLR camera with me, and I wanted Mark to do a picture. But I had to take everything off and put on the gown and get in bed. I was so nervous that I forgot.

For about three weeks I was dilated about a centimeter. I had a lot of work to do.

My nurses were all dolls. One was new to the hospital and one was new and had someone paired with her at all times. Every one of them was just awesome.

The new girl went to do my IV and missed. Then blew the vein. Then the other nurse blew the vein on my right hand. And finally got it on the side of my left hand. So that was fun.

The nurses got the little pill in me, which was also fun. They checked me later and decided I did need the second dose of it. Because I tested positive for group B strep, I had to get antibiotics in my IV.

I tried to get some sleep, but between the IV and the early contractions that had started and the fact that if I tried rolling over, the baby would get off the monitor and a nurse would have to come in to reposition things, it didn't happen more than about five minutes probably. Meanwhile, Mark was out for a good while.

Around 2 a.m. I was ready for the epidural. It wasn't bad yet. But it was starting to give me flashbacks to my first loss. And my third. And my fourth. And I was feeling anxiety. A lot of it.

I sent Mark to tell the nurses. I was first in line. It would take 45 minutes for the anesthesiologist to arrive and it takes a while for the procedure. They had me curl up like a shrimp and sent Mark out of the room. For the best. He passed out once watching me get two stitches on my arm. The relief was so quick and amazing. I loved it. But I did have to get a catheter, which I thankfully couldn't feel. I tried to sleep again, but the baby kept getting off the monitor.

I had already said I didn't want anyone but Mark in the room. Around 7:30, the visitor worst case scenario happened. Mark was on his way out of the room to get some breakfast, and I watched as he walked to my door. The door opened, and there were his parents. We didn't give them my room number on purpose. He said he told them not to come in, but there they were. Breaking rules and ignoring decorum, as usual. He escorted them out with him and I was saved.

I texted my mom to complain and then my parents showed up. I didn't really want them there, but at least they're MY parents. I had given them my room number. While they were there, L came to check on me on her way to work. She said I was at 3 cm finally, and was going to break my water to see if she could move things along. She would be back at lunch to check on me. My parents left when she went to break my water and I didn't let them back.

A weird thing that happened with the epidural was that I felt like I was wearing velour pants. I know that makes no sense. I had no pants on, and I certainly don't own velour pants. But for whatever reason, I was convinced I had some on. It all had to do with how numb my legs felt. I still think that's hilarious.

Anyway, when L came back at 11-ish. I was only 5 cm. Everyone was disappointed. Mark found Criminal Minds on TV and I was watching that. I was fine. Why not go get lunch? Just take your phone.

About five minutes after he finally left, a nurse came in.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"How are you feeling? Any pressure?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"Well, do you feel like you need to, uh, use the bathroom?"

Embarrassed, I admitted that I did feel like I could, so I wasn't looking forward to the fact that was going to poop while delivering.

"Ummmm I'm going to check you. I've been seeing some things on your monitor that we only see when it's time to push."

She checked me and said that half an hour after being only at 5 cm, I was suddenly at 10 and ready to push.

I panicked. I tried texting Mark but it didn't go through. I called him. They were calling L. I was startingg to feel contractions despite the epidural. They got the anesthesiologist to add something to my IV to take the edge off. They sat me up like a frog. I felt like the baby was going to slide out, so I crossed my ankles and squeezed.

I don't know why they don't tell you that if you feel like you need to take a huge shit, it's time to push. Everything is just called pressure. Or urge to push. No one mentions you think you're going to crap.

L made it from her office and I started 3 hours of pushing. The baby was stuck under my pubic bone for half an hour. They were about to give up on me but he shifted.

I started to tear, so I got a nice big episiotomy.

At 3:07 p.m., I delivered a healthy 7 lb., 14 oz. baby boy after 17 hours of labor.

I held my breath until he cried. I stared at him in wonder. I delivered the placenta. They took him to bathe him and my doctor stitched me up. I lost count at six stitches. Ugh. When they finally sat me up, I was shocked. It looked like an episode of Dexter. I thought it was weird that they had the tarp all over the place. But then I saw why. Holy hell. Blood everywhere.

They tried to get him to nurse, but the lactation lady basically gave up. She got me a plastic spoon and squirted a small amount of milk on it and spoon fed him.

He was tongue-tied, which gave him a lot of trouble.

While I was being stitched, Mark went to tell our parents and siblings that we had a son. When he came back, we had our hour of skin-to-skin. Finally the families could come in. And who led the way? HIS parents. Not the people whose daughter's life was hanging in the balance. But the assholes who have no social skills. I was so hungry. I had sent word to my parents to please bring me food. They went and got me a chicken salad sandwich. It was probably the best I've ever eaten but only because I was ravenous.

I had to get the catheter back in because I hadn't urinated. Once that happened, they wheeled me to my room. It was room 468. And everyone made the joke of it being easy because it was 2 4 6 8 blah blah stupid lameness.

Everyone finally left. They were all so busy holding him and my in-laws were so busy taking pictures of them holding him that NO ONE took a picture of me with him or of the three of us as a family. I'm still very bitter.

But he was here. He was healthy. We both survived. I was exhausted but got basically no sleep.