(Originally Published July 2014)
First, the hospital is going to do something to piss you off. At check-in, I got mad quickly.
Senthil and I had gone to this very desk last week in a practice run. I asked questions about any possible forms I could fill out then. They said there was nothing. At in check-in, I was first asked for a living will and about three other random documents. Grrr, I would have prepared them if they would have simply told me last week. It's fine, though. But I had back-labor pain. Koral was pushing on my spine from inside, and my salvation would be in the form of a heating pad, which I was told by the classes (given at this hospital) was an option. Guess what? No heating pads!!!!! Crazy policy about people getting burned.
I was livid and having more painful contractions. We were taken to the first of our three rooms - triage. This is where they checked me and I was 4.5 cm. I thought, that's it? We were eventually moved to a room in Labor and Delivery where I was hooked up to a horrible monitoring device by a tight band around my belly. This was again not what I was told in the classes. I was told I would be free to move and labor unhooked if drug-free.
Well, another policy they tell you only when you get there is they have to monitor baby every half hour for 15 minutes with this tightening belly band and monitor that makes you crazy. My mantra continued - "Noo nonononononononononononooooooo, ohhh, it's baadddd...." Yes, I was a baby about the contractions until they let me off that monitor and into the shower. Thank god for the shower. That set up the next few hours. Shower for 20 minutes, get out, put on the gown half-wet, lay down, belly band, monitor and contractions, back to the shower.
Senthil discovered we could bring our own heating pad! He called Mom and Dad right away and luckily they were able to buy one and bring it. That got me through the worst parts of being in the bed for my back-labor. Mom and Dad wanted to stay, and were quietly sitting on the couch while I focused on contractions, showering, moaning, etc. I didn't care where they were, but kicked them out near the escalation. I kind of knew at the point where it got worse and I would no longer be able to shower. This was coming up on something bad.
I remember laying there, discovering from a nurse that I could breath through the contractions instead of moaning and mantra-ing. It didn't improve much, and my throat got really dry, but it kept me from hyperventilating and Senthil got some sleep.
Oh, I forgot, they won't give you food or water. Only ice pieces to eat.
In through the nose, out through the mouth long - the breathing went like that. The nurse was awesome when she told me I was doing really well for someone with no drugs. She said some women do much worse with the epidural. My favorite thing she said was that I was almost done. I was 9.5 cm and about ready to push. I asked how I would know when to push, and she just said I would know.
I remember a lot of nurses came in. A lot. Like six, ten? Senthil was awake again, watching them. Then the urge to push came and they were holding my exhaustedly shuddering legs and coaching me - curl your spine into the push - bare down on your middle, don't push through your legs - take a big breath and HOLD it, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, okay - quick breath, again! 1, 2, 3 . . .
I pushed. The contractions told me when. It happened. I was sweaty. One awesome nurse mopped off my face, and Senthil had the lovely spray-bottle fan from CVS that I love. I looked at him and said, "Do it" and he pulled the trigger. All the nurses laughed. We pushed, breathed, pushed. Little breaks were taken. Senthil later referred to me in this time as "in charge like a CEO." I talked about delayed cord cutting in between pushing, I told them when I would push and demanded someone count for me, when they explained about the liquid being spread down there was for lubrication, I said, "Yes, like a slip-n-slide, just do it" and pushed. Sometime in the mix the water had broken like a huge warm gush - I think earlier on. This was fine.
The doctor was called. I remember one nurse said, "Should I get Dr. K?" and someone said "let's let her push a few minutes" and I said, "Yes, get her. Get Dr. K!" When she came in, somehow the bed transformed. There were suddenly big places for my legs to be - not metal stirrups but some kind of big leather grooves. Senthil said the whole bottom of the bed broke off and they connected this other thing. I was being coached through pushing but after many pushes, I could not believe she wasn't out. They kept telling me they could see her hair. Why wasn't she out? I pushed hard. Then I told them she was not coming, she was stuck, I couldn't do it - and I would push - and then tell them again, it's not happening - she's too big? I don't know if I tore like they said or if Dr. K cut me, but that was what got her out. Head was out - YES - then one shoulder, then the other, and she was REAL.
Senthil's face. He saw everything, and he followed that baby. He got her first cry on video with the iPad. He was amazed. Later he would tell me my nether regions looked like a whole new scientific thing, nothing he had seen before. I'm shocked to say I never did poop during the process. I read so many blogs about women fearing that, and I simply didn't care if I did. But I didn't. Senthil said things (hemorrhoids?) were bulging out (they went back in, I'm fine now...) and her head was emerging and it was crazy.
I got through it! I got her out! I was pretty thrilled. They handed her to me and Senthil took that first picture of us together while Dr. K was sewing me up and someone reached an entire arm inside of me three times in a terrible way to get out some undelivered bits of placenta. However, Koral was there and the best distraction ever. Like I said, just amazed to have gotten through labor and that she was real.
Most amazing, I never hit my 10. The doctor said a 10 on the pain scale would be getting your leg cut off. I was saving for my 10. I hit my 8. It was as bad as a migraine headache, but quicker. Therefore, while new and not easy at all, it was better than a long migraine headache. This was without any pain killer - not even a Tylenol. Afterward, I would start on Motrin for the stitches and cramps.
First, the hospital is going to do something to piss you off. At check-in, I got mad quickly.
Senthil and I had gone to this very desk last week in a practice run. I asked questions about any possible forms I could fill out then. They said there was nothing. At in check-in, I was first asked for a living will and about three other random documents. Grrr, I would have prepared them if they would have simply told me last week. It's fine, though. But I had back-labor pain. Koral was pushing on my spine from inside, and my salvation would be in the form of a heating pad, which I was told by the classes (given at this hospital) was an option. Guess what? No heating pads!!!!! Crazy policy about people getting burned.
I was livid and having more painful contractions. We were taken to the first of our three rooms - triage. This is where they checked me and I was 4.5 cm. I thought, that's it? We were eventually moved to a room in Labor and Delivery where I was hooked up to a horrible monitoring device by a tight band around my belly. This was again not what I was told in the classes. I was told I would be free to move and labor unhooked if drug-free.
Well, another policy they tell you only when you get there is they have to monitor baby every half hour for 15 minutes with this tightening belly band and monitor that makes you crazy. My mantra continued - "Noo nonononononononononononooooooo, ohhh, it's baadddd...." Yes, I was a baby about the contractions until they let me off that monitor and into the shower. Thank god for the shower. That set up the next few hours. Shower for 20 minutes, get out, put on the gown half-wet, lay down, belly band, monitor and contractions, back to the shower.
Senthil discovered we could bring our own heating pad! He called Mom and Dad right away and luckily they were able to buy one and bring it. That got me through the worst parts of being in the bed for my back-labor. Mom and Dad wanted to stay, and were quietly sitting on the couch while I focused on contractions, showering, moaning, etc. I didn't care where they were, but kicked them out near the escalation. I kind of knew at the point where it got worse and I would no longer be able to shower. This was coming up on something bad.
I remember laying there, discovering from a nurse that I could breath through the contractions instead of moaning and mantra-ing. It didn't improve much, and my throat got really dry, but it kept me from hyperventilating and Senthil got some sleep.
Oh, I forgot, they won't give you food or water. Only ice pieces to eat.
In through the nose, out through the mouth long - the breathing went like that. The nurse was awesome when she told me I was doing really well for someone with no drugs. She said some women do much worse with the epidural. My favorite thing she said was that I was almost done. I was 9.5 cm and about ready to push. I asked how I would know when to push, and she just said I would know.
I remember a lot of nurses came in. A lot. Like six, ten? Senthil was awake again, watching them. Then the urge to push came and they were holding my exhaustedly shuddering legs and coaching me - curl your spine into the push - bare down on your middle, don't push through your legs - take a big breath and HOLD it, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, okay - quick breath, again! 1, 2, 3 . . .
I pushed. The contractions told me when. It happened. I was sweaty. One awesome nurse mopped off my face, and Senthil had the lovely spray-bottle fan from CVS that I love. I looked at him and said, "Do it" and he pulled the trigger. All the nurses laughed. We pushed, breathed, pushed. Little breaks were taken. Senthil later referred to me in this time as "in charge like a CEO." I talked about delayed cord cutting in between pushing, I told them when I would push and demanded someone count for me, when they explained about the liquid being spread down there was for lubrication, I said, "Yes, like a slip-n-slide, just do it" and pushed. Sometime in the mix the water had broken like a huge warm gush - I think earlier on. This was fine.
The doctor was called. I remember one nurse said, "Should I get Dr. K?" and someone said "let's let her push a few minutes" and I said, "Yes, get her. Get Dr. K!" When she came in, somehow the bed transformed. There were suddenly big places for my legs to be - not metal stirrups but some kind of big leather grooves. Senthil said the whole bottom of the bed broke off and they connected this other thing. I was being coached through pushing but after many pushes, I could not believe she wasn't out. They kept telling me they could see her hair. Why wasn't she out? I pushed hard. Then I told them she was not coming, she was stuck, I couldn't do it - and I would push - and then tell them again, it's not happening - she's too big? I don't know if I tore like they said or if Dr. K cut me, but that was what got her out. Head was out - YES - then one shoulder, then the other, and she was REAL.
Senthil's face. He saw everything, and he followed that baby. He got her first cry on video with the iPad. He was amazed. Later he would tell me my nether regions looked like a whole new scientific thing, nothing he had seen before. I'm shocked to say I never did poop during the process. I read so many blogs about women fearing that, and I simply didn't care if I did. But I didn't. Senthil said things (hemorrhoids?) were bulging out (they went back in, I'm fine now...) and her head was emerging and it was crazy.
I got through it! I got her out! I was pretty thrilled. They handed her to me and Senthil took that first picture of us together while Dr. K was sewing me up and someone reached an entire arm inside of me three times in a terrible way to get out some undelivered bits of placenta. However, Koral was there and the best distraction ever. Like I said, just amazed to have gotten through labor and that she was real.
Most amazing, I never hit my 10. The doctor said a 10 on the pain scale would be getting your leg cut off. I was saving for my 10. I hit my 8. It was as bad as a migraine headache, but quicker. Therefore, while new and not easy at all, it was better than a long migraine headache. This was without any pain killer - not even a Tylenol. Afterward, I would start on Motrin for the stitches and cramps.
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| 6 Pounds, 3 Ounces |
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| Holding my girl for the first time! |
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| Day 4, so tiny in Dad's arms |
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