It all started at 4:30 am on Sunday, September 26th, 2010. I woke up because I thought I had finally waited too long to waddle to the bathroom, and had peed my pants. I didn't even dare hope it could be my water breaking, so when I wiped and saw blood, I kinda freaked out for a second.
Is amniotic fluid bloody?
I don't think so.
This must be bloody show then.
Well, I don't see a mucous plug anywhere. Now that I think of it, this blood isn't very mucousy at all. It's just... blood.
I wasn't feeling any contractions (just very mild period-like cramps, hardly worth even thinking about), so I returned to bed. I was sure it was just bloody show. Still exciting, though, because that meant labor was coming!
I couldn't fall asleep, so I did what any modern mother-to-be would do: I Googled the difference between bloody show and water breaking. What Google said worried me, and I determined that I would wake Jake up and have him drive me to the hospital.
Except, I felt bad. I didn't want to wake him up. He was up almost all night anyway, studying and doing homework, so I let him sleep. I'd wake him up if anything interesting happened. As it was, I was sure I was overreacting, and when we did in fact go to the hospital, I knew they were just going to tell me to go home.
When Jake got up, he showered and got dressed while I fed the dog and took her out to go potty (which she did, thank Frith, because she's usually a turd about eating and going potty when I want her to), and then I came back inside to find Jake in the kitchen getting ready to gobble up the rest of my PastaHut pasta.
We were invited to a friend's BBQ around noon, which we had been planning to go to. So when I came inside, Jake started telling me about today's game plan. He had planned on going to school to study and do homework before zipping home to pick me up, go to the BBQ for a while, and then drop me off at home before he returned to school until an unholy hour of the night.
Jake: Hey. Can I eat your pasta for breakfast?
Me: *stink eye* Yeah, go for it.
Jake: So the BBQ is at noon or something, right?
Me: Yeah, but I don't think we can go to it.
Jake: Why not?
Me: Because I think my water broke last night.
Jake: ............. What?
I quickly explained the bloody show vs amniotic fluid thing, and he suggested we go to the hospital. And by suggested, I mean he threw me over his shoulder and strapped me into the car before I could protest.
And yes, I would have protested. I was convinced that we were going to show up at L&D and they would check me out and send me right back home. After all, I wasn't having contractions (just what felt like period cramps), and I didn't even feel like I was experiencing "labor" how I had imagined it would be.
At the hospital, I informed the nurse at the front desk that I thought my water might have broken but I wasn't sure. She said that it would be no problem to put me in a room to check me out, and that's what happened.
They swabbed my nethers with a pH stick (amniotic fluid is more alkaline than normal hoo-hoo fluids) and put me on a fetal monitor just to check on how the baby was doing (fine, kickin'). During one of my period cramps, the nurse says, "Oh look, you're having a contraction." And I said, "Awhaa?"
We were invited to a friend's BBQ around noon, which we had been planning to go to. So when I came inside, Jake started telling me about today's game plan. He had planned on going to school to study and do homework before zipping home to pick me up, go to the BBQ for a while, and then drop me off at home before he returned to school until an unholy hour of the night.
Jake: Hey. Can I eat your pasta for breakfast?
Me: *stink eye* Yeah, go for it.
Jake: So the BBQ is at noon or something, right?
Me: Yeah, but I don't think we can go to it.
Jake: Why not?
Me: Because I think my water broke last night.
Jake: ............. What?
I quickly explained the bloody show vs amniotic fluid thing, and he suggested we go to the hospital. And by suggested, I mean he threw me over his shoulder and strapped me into the car before I could protest.
And yes, I would have protested. I was convinced that we were going to show up at L&D and they would check me out and send me right back home. After all, I wasn't having contractions (just what felt like period cramps), and I didn't even feel like I was experiencing "labor" how I had imagined it would be.
At the hospital, I informed the nurse at the front desk that I thought my water might have broken but I wasn't sure. She said that it would be no problem to put me in a room to check me out, and that's what happened.
They swabbed my nethers with a pH stick (amniotic fluid is more alkaline than normal hoo-hoo fluids) and put me on a fetal monitor just to check on how the baby was doing (fine, kickin'). During one of my period cramps, the nurse says, "Oh look, you're having a contraction." And I said, "Awhaa?"
I was informed that the hospital staff believed it to be in my best interest to stay at the hospital, since I would most likely be delivering a baby that day. I agreed and settled in. We were in for a long wait.
Contractions weren't that bad - at first. They really just felt like period cramps, albeit increasingly nasty ones. I didn't have to be on constant fetal monitoring, but about every hour or so, the nurse would come in and hook me up for 10 minutes. I could watch the baby's heartbeat, which was fine and all, but what really interested me was the contraction monitor.
When you have a contraction, it shows on the monitor as a spike. The longer and more intense the contraction, the steeper the spike. At first, they were just little lumps. I was kind of afraid that they would be too far apart or irregular to offer much hope of an impending delivery, but I really didn't need to worry. They were mostly about 3 minutes apart and lasting a minute.
At this point, the contractions were just uncomfortable. I could still walk around and talk and all that.
The nurse returned several times to hook me up to the monitor, and occasionally to check and see how far dilated I was. I arrived at 3cm and went to 5cm very quickly, but then kind of stalled after that. Upon closer inspection, the nurse discovered that my water was only leaking, and not actually completely ruptured. She told the doctor, who came in and suggested they completely break my water, and I agreed. Anything to get this show on the road!
When the doctor broke my water, it was... uh... gross. Squishy. Gross. It felt like someone was dumping warm water all over my crotch. Every time I tried to move after that, more would come out.
After the doctor finished breaking my water, things went really quickly. The contractions got worse fast, until I couldn't really walk anymore. Jake had to walk me to the bathroom when I had to pee, and I almost didn't make it back to the bed. When I did, I just laid on my side and hugged one of the pillows.
Contractions hurt. A lot. They got so bad eventually that I couldn't help but to scream into the pillow during them. I always told myself I wasn't going to scream, but when it came down to it, I really couldn't stop myself. I had to get some release somehow!! It made me feel a little better.
The nurse returned and informed me that if I wanted an epidural, now would be the time. Apparently, there was a C-section in the works, and the anesthesiologist would be busy with that for a while. If I didn't get an epidural right then, I'd be delivering before the anesthesiologist had time to hook me up.
I said I didn't want an epidural. I passed the point of no return.
I don't really remember much after that. There was a lot of pain - what felt like the most severe abdominal cramps ever - and one of the nurse's said something about transition.
I was still on my side at this point, and all of a sudden, I felt like I needed to push. OK... that's not exactly right. It more felt like my body was pushing, and I was just along for the ride. When women talk about the "need" to push, it's not like, "Oh, I feel like I need to push now." Your body just goes, "PUSH!" and you go, "AAHHHH!"
I informed the nurse that I needed to push: "GGUUHHHHAAAAA GOTTA PUSH!"
The nurses kept paging the doctor, but he was still doing the C-section and was unavailable. One of the nurses told Jake to go inform the front desk that they needed a doctor NOW, because this baby was antsy to get out. Jake left and was gone for... too long. In my opinion, too long. I had beenholding squeezing his hand up until that point, and with him gone, I had to grab onto the bedrail, and that was hardly as satisfying as his hand.
He came back. More ouchies occurred. One of the nurses told us that our baby had a full head of dark hair and asked Jake if he wanted to see. He declined.
I was still on my side, and they were all trying to roll me over. It hurt to move anything, but somehow I managed to roll onto my back. When the next pushing feeling came, the nurses said I couldn't just push; I had to do that grunting-breathing thing so the baby didn't shoot out too fast and rip me open. I never thought it would be soooooo hard to grunt-breathe, but it really is, because all you want to do is push!
The doctor still wasn't there, but the Beast was coming out with or without a doctor. Jake and the nurses continued to patiently remind me not to just push willy-nilly, but to grunt-breathe, which I did (mostly). One of the nurses said something about the baby crowning, blah blah blah, "ring of fire." I'd just like to thank that nurse for totally ruining an awesome Johnny Cash song for me.
(this is where I'd normally embed a video featuring Mr. Cash singing "Ring of Fire," but for some reason the video link keeps breaking. Boooo!)
I only pushed three or four times (I don't remember exactly), and the Beast was out. It was a pretty weird feeling. And after being in all that pain for so long, once the baby makes its exit, the pain stops completely. Thank you, Mother Nature.
We hadn't wanted to find out the Beast's gender in utero, because I had this sappy wish for Jake to be the one to say, "It's a girl/boy!" He told me that he was going to tell me that it was a hermaphrodite, and also that he was going to exclaim, "Whose fucking baby is that?!" upon first seeing the baby. He did neither, though; the nurses held up this kicking, crying baby to him so he could tell me what it was, and all he could do was stand there and stare. Later, he told me that he was looking at the Beast, and he knew she was a girl, but he couldn't think of the words to say. He finally did, but it took him a couple of minutes, and I think the nurses thought he was going to pass out or something.
Still no doctor. One nurse was busying herself with my (wrecked) vagina, and the other one was tending to the baby. She wiped her off a little bit and handed her to me, and then handed a pair of scissors to Jake. He took them, not really realizing what she was intending to happen with said scissors. He realized too late that he was supposed to cut the cord with them, and I was really proud of him when he did. I had wanted him to cut the cord, and he had said he'd think about it even though I'm sure he was pretty set on NOT cutting it. But he did. :)
For the record, for all you dads who might be nervous about cutting the cord, Jake said it took about five cuts to actually sever the thing, and that it was squishy and felt like cutting through a giant booger. He said it squirted some blood, but I didn't even notice it, so it couldn't have been that much. And might I add, if your wife is having an unmedicated delivery and she wants you to cut the cord, cut the cord. It's the least you could do!
So now, I'm holding the baby in my arms, Jake is standing by my side, and the nurses are still doing nurse stuff. One of them asks us what her name is, and Jake answers: "Camille."
Camille is doing the wide-eyed quiet newborn thing, and then she starts rooting. I've been told this means the baby wants to eat, so I set her up with some boobage, and she starts sucking away. It was kind of crazy! This kid was like 1 minute old and already nursing. Babies are amazing.
About this time, the doctor comes strolling in. 'Bout fuckin' time, dude. He says something about how cute the baby is (like he'd tell me if he thought she was ugly), and promptly delivers the placenta. It's not bad. Not at all. It feels weird, but it's nothing like delivering the baby. Out comes the placenta, they toss it in a bag or something, and I'm here thinking, "Oh yay, now I get cleaned up and we go to the recovery room."
No, not quite yet. First, I have to be beaten up by Dr. OopsIMissedTheBirth.
He says, "I need to make sure all of the placenta came out so you don't bleed out." Sounds reasonable. "So I'm going to palpate your tummy." Don't say "palpate" and "tummy" in the same sentence, dude, it sounds idiotic.
I say, "OK." Palpate away. I wish I had told him to fuck off. Apparently in doctorspeak, "palpate" means "pound the shit out of." That whole palpation thing might have been as bad as the contractions. And he didn't just do it once. He did it several times. And each time, I tried to break his fingers, but alas, I was holding a baby, and had a disadvantage.
He finished beating up my poor abdomen, and upon close inspection of my junk, says, "You tore a little bit, so I'm going to stitch you up."
OK, fine, stitch me up. I was a little disappointed that I tore, but I was really more just happy to have a (hella cute) baby on my chest.
All the web forums, pregnancy books, articles, etc, everything everywhere, all say that you won't even notice it when the doctor stitches up your tear, because your hoo-ha is numb from delivering, and that you're too distracted with your baby to notice anything else.
All the web forums, pregnancy books, articles, etc, everything everywhere, are all FULL OF SHIT!
The doctor sets himself up on he business end of the bed, and says, "OK I'm going to give you a couple of numbing shots, like Novocaine at the dentist. It might sting a little."
OK, no sweat. The dentist ain't no thang, and also, I just pushed a 7 1/2 pound person out of there. I lived through that, so I can live through your Novocaine pokes. I definitely felt those pokes (owie), but I figured I wouldn't feel anything after that, right?
Wrong.
I don't know if that stuff didn't work, or if the doctor injected it into the wrong place, or what, but I definitely felt him sewing me up. I informed him that I could feel everything he was doing, and he simply assured me that he was almost done.
If there are any doctors or future doctors reading this, be aware: if I could have sat up and beat him about the head and face, I would have. Fortunately for him, my abs didn't work at this point, so I couldn't assault him. But I wanted to. Yes, yes I did. So if you're stitching someone up and they say, "HEYICANFEELTHAT," maybe see if you can numb them up for realsies? That would have been nice.
After the stitching, I was palpated once more, and I seriously almost whipped one of my pillows at his head. He determined that I was all set to go, and he zipped out of the room. I never saw him again. Good riddance!
The nurses took Camille real quick to get her second Apgar score (the first one was completed while I was still in the postpartum whacked-out phase), and they returned her in a matter of moments and said her Apgar score was 9. Go Camille! First test in life, and she got an A. That's my girl.
I was cleaned up, given a new supersexy hospital gown, and a new diaper. Yes, you wear a diaper. OK, it's not a real diaper, but it feels like one. It's the most maxi-est pad you'll ever lay eyes on, and it's held in place with this awesome hospital-grade mesh underpants-type garment. At this point, though, I didn't even care.
Jake's mom and two youngest brothers had arrived at some point and were waiting for the doctor to leave and for the nurses to finish cleaning me up so they could come in and see the baby. They were given the go-ahead to come in, and much fussing was done over the baby.
We were moved into our (much smaller) recovery room, and we were left to get to know our daughter. Which we did. :)
When you have a contraction, it shows on the monitor as a spike. The longer and more intense the contraction, the steeper the spike. At first, they were just little lumps. I was kind of afraid that they would be too far apart or irregular to offer much hope of an impending delivery, but I really didn't need to worry. They were mostly about 3 minutes apart and lasting a minute.
At this point, the contractions were just uncomfortable. I could still walk around and talk and all that.
The nurse returned several times to hook me up to the monitor, and occasionally to check and see how far dilated I was. I arrived at 3cm and went to 5cm very quickly, but then kind of stalled after that. Upon closer inspection, the nurse discovered that my water was only leaking, and not actually completely ruptured. She told the doctor, who came in and suggested they completely break my water, and I agreed. Anything to get this show on the road!
When the doctor broke my water, it was... uh... gross. Squishy. Gross. It felt like someone was dumping warm water all over my crotch. Every time I tried to move after that, more would come out.
After the doctor finished breaking my water, things went really quickly. The contractions got worse fast, until I couldn't really walk anymore. Jake had to walk me to the bathroom when I had to pee, and I almost didn't make it back to the bed. When I did, I just laid on my side and hugged one of the pillows.
Contractions hurt. A lot. They got so bad eventually that I couldn't help but to scream into the pillow during them. I always told myself I wasn't going to scream, but when it came down to it, I really couldn't stop myself. I had to get some release somehow!! It made me feel a little better.
The nurse returned and informed me that if I wanted an epidural, now would be the time. Apparently, there was a C-section in the works, and the anesthesiologist would be busy with that for a while. If I didn't get an epidural right then, I'd be delivering before the anesthesiologist had time to hook me up.
I said I didn't want an epidural. I passed the point of no return.
I don't really remember much after that. There was a lot of pain - what felt like the most severe abdominal cramps ever - and one of the nurse's said something about transition.
I was still on my side at this point, and all of a sudden, I felt like I needed to push. OK... that's not exactly right. It more felt like my body was pushing, and I was just along for the ride. When women talk about the "need" to push, it's not like, "Oh, I feel like I need to push now." Your body just goes, "PUSH!" and you go, "AAHHHH!"
I informed the nurse that I needed to push: "GGUUHHHHAAAAA GOTTA PUSH!"
The nurses kept paging the doctor, but he was still doing the C-section and was unavailable. One of the nurses told Jake to go inform the front desk that they needed a doctor NOW, because this baby was antsy to get out. Jake left and was gone for... too long. In my opinion, too long. I had been
He came back. More ouchies occurred. One of the nurses told us that our baby had a full head of dark hair and asked Jake if he wanted to see. He declined.
I was still on my side, and they were all trying to roll me over. It hurt to move anything, but somehow I managed to roll onto my back. When the next pushing feeling came, the nurses said I couldn't just push; I had to do that grunting-breathing thing so the baby didn't shoot out too fast and rip me open. I never thought it would be soooooo hard to grunt-breathe, but it really is, because all you want to do is push!
The doctor still wasn't there, but the Beast was coming out with or without a doctor. Jake and the nurses continued to patiently remind me not to just push willy-nilly, but to grunt-breathe, which I did (mostly). One of the nurses said something about the baby crowning, blah blah blah, "ring of fire." I'd just like to thank that nurse for totally ruining an awesome Johnny Cash song for me.
(this is where I'd normally embed a video featuring Mr. Cash singing "Ring of Fire," but for some reason the video link keeps breaking. Boooo!)
I only pushed three or four times (I don't remember exactly), and the Beast was out. It was a pretty weird feeling. And after being in all that pain for so long, once the baby makes its exit, the pain stops completely. Thank you, Mother Nature.
We hadn't wanted to find out the Beast's gender in utero, because I had this sappy wish for Jake to be the one to say, "It's a girl/boy!" He told me that he was going to tell me that it was a hermaphrodite, and also that he was going to exclaim, "Whose fucking baby is that?!" upon first seeing the baby. He did neither, though; the nurses held up this kicking, crying baby to him so he could tell me what it was, and all he could do was stand there and stare. Later, he told me that he was looking at the Beast, and he knew she was a girl, but he couldn't think of the words to say. He finally did, but it took him a couple of minutes, and I think the nurses thought he was going to pass out or something.
Still no doctor. One nurse was busying herself with my (wrecked) vagina, and the other one was tending to the baby. She wiped her off a little bit and handed her to me, and then handed a pair of scissors to Jake. He took them, not really realizing what she was intending to happen with said scissors. He realized too late that he was supposed to cut the cord with them, and I was really proud of him when he did. I had wanted him to cut the cord, and he had said he'd think about it even though I'm sure he was pretty set on NOT cutting it. But he did. :)
For the record, for all you dads who might be nervous about cutting the cord, Jake said it took about five cuts to actually sever the thing, and that it was squishy and felt like cutting through a giant booger. He said it squirted some blood, but I didn't even notice it, so it couldn't have been that much. And might I add, if your wife is having an unmedicated delivery and she wants you to cut the cord, cut the cord. It's the least you could do!
So now, I'm holding the baby in my arms, Jake is standing by my side, and the nurses are still doing nurse stuff. One of them asks us what her name is, and Jake answers: "Camille."
 |
| Camille |
About this time, the doctor comes strolling in. 'Bout fuckin' time, dude. He says something about how cute the baby is (like he'd tell me if he thought she was ugly), and promptly delivers the placenta. It's not bad. Not at all. It feels weird, but it's nothing like delivering the baby. Out comes the placenta, they toss it in a bag or something, and I'm here thinking, "Oh yay, now I get cleaned up and we go to the recovery room."
No, not quite yet. First, I have to be beaten up by Dr. OopsIMissedTheBirth.
He says, "I need to make sure all of the placenta came out so you don't bleed out." Sounds reasonable. "So I'm going to palpate your tummy." Don't say "palpate" and "tummy" in the same sentence, dude, it sounds idiotic.
I say, "OK." Palpate away. I wish I had told him to fuck off. Apparently in doctorspeak, "palpate" means "pound the shit out of." That whole palpation thing might have been as bad as the contractions. And he didn't just do it once. He did it several times. And each time, I tried to break his fingers, but alas, I was holding a baby, and had a disadvantage.
He finished beating up my poor abdomen, and upon close inspection of my junk, says, "You tore a little bit, so I'm going to stitch you up."
OK, fine, stitch me up. I was a little disappointed that I tore, but I was really more just happy to have a (hella cute) baby on my chest.
All the web forums, pregnancy books, articles, etc, everything everywhere, all say that you won't even notice it when the doctor stitches up your tear, because your hoo-ha is numb from delivering, and that you're too distracted with your baby to notice anything else.
All the web forums, pregnancy books, articles, etc, everything everywhere, are all FULL OF SHIT!
The doctor sets himself up on he business end of the bed, and says, "OK I'm going to give you a couple of numbing shots, like Novocaine at the dentist. It might sting a little."
OK, no sweat. The dentist ain't no thang, and also, I just pushed a 7 1/2 pound person out of there. I lived through that, so I can live through your Novocaine pokes. I definitely felt those pokes (owie), but I figured I wouldn't feel anything after that, right?
Wrong.
I don't know if that stuff didn't work, or if the doctor injected it into the wrong place, or what, but I definitely felt him sewing me up. I informed him that I could feel everything he was doing, and he simply assured me that he was almost done.
If there are any doctors or future doctors reading this, be aware: if I could have sat up and beat him about the head and face, I would have. Fortunately for him, my abs didn't work at this point, so I couldn't assault him. But I wanted to. Yes, yes I did. So if you're stitching someone up and they say, "HEYICANFEELTHAT," maybe see if you can numb them up for realsies? That would have been nice.
After the stitching, I was palpated once more, and I seriously almost whipped one of my pillows at his head. He determined that I was all set to go, and he zipped out of the room. I never saw him again. Good riddance!
The nurses took Camille real quick to get her second Apgar score (the first one was completed while I was still in the postpartum whacked-out phase), and they returned her in a matter of moments and said her Apgar score was 9. Go Camille! First test in life, and she got an A. That's my girl.
I was cleaned up, given a new supersexy hospital gown, and a new diaper. Yes, you wear a diaper. OK, it's not a real diaper, but it feels like one. It's the most maxi-est pad you'll ever lay eyes on, and it's held in place with this awesome hospital-grade mesh underpants-type garment. At this point, though, I didn't even care.
Jake's mom and two youngest brothers had arrived at some point and were waiting for the doctor to leave and for the nurses to finish cleaning me up so they could come in and see the baby. They were given the go-ahead to come in, and much fussing was done over the baby.
We were moved into our (much smaller) recovery room, and we were left to get to know our daughter. Which we did. :)
lolz on the last one...
ReplyDeleteWhy have you not posted any pix of the Camille "Beast"?
ReplyDeleteWere you trying to have a silent, Scientology birth? I thought you were Mormon.
ReplyDeletethank you for that story, i just laughed my arse off! You have away with words!
ReplyDelete