...A Year Ago Today.

When I started this I was really excited to recount my birth story, but now it's my baby's birthday and what I really want is to write a big, fat letter about how much I love him and post it. Since I've baited you this far, I suppose I should finish the task at hand!

Waking up in the hospital was like not really waking up. I had spent the night strapped to so many monitors and contraptions that every time I had to go potty (which was like 847 because I was almost 10 months pregnant at this point) I had to wrap all these cords around my shoulders and hobble into the bathroom. I probably slept an hour and a half total. My Pitocin drip started between 8 and 9 AM, and despite the horror-story warnings I had received, my body worked surprisingly well with the drug. I began having contractions almost immediately, but they were soft, gentle, well-spaced, and generally just a minor interruption to my day.

This is the part where I wish I could change things. Doctors and nurses preach "protocol" in the hospital setting a lot, but going into it I knew that I didn't HAVE to be monitored the whole time if I felt like it wasn't necessary. Knowing the kind of birth experience I wanted, I should have been much more proactive and voiced my opinions instead of drifting blissfully along, eating jello and talking to DH while doing nothing but lying in bed all day. If I could go back, I would insist on 15 minutes an hour off the monitors as long as baby's heart rate was fine (it was) and my blood pressure was manageable (it was, barely). I would have showered, stretched myself across the birthing ball, walked the hallway, gotten on all fours, anything I could do to progress my own labor. But when you're strapped to an ever-increasing drip of Pitocin, the hospital staff start thinking lawsuit and get antsy.

Around 11AM things were looking promising...my contractions were steady, and I had dilated about 1/2cm, enough that my OB (our second favorite, and coincidentally the doc who delivered my 2 1/2 year old niece) could break my water. This was honestly the MOST painful part of my entire pregnancy, labor, delivery, and recovery. Probably because they usually wait until you are a little more open to do it, but that couldn't be helped in my situation. It took somewhere between 3-4 tries, but I was practically blind with vaginal pain at that point so I stopped counting.

The next 3 hours were awesome...and I mean awesome only by the fact that I felt something was HAPPENING. I was finally in LABOR! Despite our plea that we only wanted my mother and mother in law to visit, and only while I was in labor (not when time to push) we had several visits from other family throughout the day, and I didn't even mind. My contractions were getting stronger, so much that I needed to practice breathing techniques, and steady and closer together. When my OB can back to check around 2:30, I was sure she would tell me I was at a 4.

Not so much. My cervix HAD NOT BUDGED. At this point, everyone was still hopeful for a natural delivery, except me. I was too busy worrying and being a pessimist and having that Big C hanging over my head. Since baby was doing fine, she wanted to use an internal monitor to make sure my contractions were strong enough because I was already on a high dose of Pit. At this point, getting out of bed was no longer an option. She also suggested Stadol for the first time, and I surprised myself by accepting. Her argument convinced me: at the rate we were going, this could be a 24 hour labor and I needed to rest. My pain level was not as high as I had expected, but the contractions were definitely make sleep impossible.

The next 3 hours were a blur, mostly because of the two doses of Stadol (and two subsequent 1 hour naps) and the breathing and concentration through the heaviest contractions yet. They were painful and getting worse, but nowhere near the level of pain I thought I would be in. Even so, hubby and I had a plan for the next OB check. The guidelines were this: if I was dilated at a 6 or higher, no more drugs because I knew I could handle it, 4-6 would be epidural time, 2-4 was iffy maybe just more Stadol, and if I still wasn't past a 2, then surgery time it was. Maybe I gave in too soon, but after Cervadil, Pitocin, and no more than a 1/2cm progression in 20 hours, it was time to let this kid see the world.

The doctor gave me the choice, which I will be forever grateful for, but it was time. Once we said the word, I have never seen people move so fast. Apparently, there was an operating room opening up right away, and within 10 minutes I was naked from the waist down, being shaved by two nurses, and talking to an anesthesiologist while hubby and the moms were packing up our room. Within 20 minutes, I was being wheeled into an operating room, stuck in the spine, and strapped to a cold steel table, naked and exposed from the waist down. The 10 or so people in ther emoved like clockwork, and I think I had the best nurse anesthecist ever. My husband joined me, I felt nothing, we just looked at each other with love in our eyes and waited.

And at 6:36PM, our tiny baby boy was out and crying for the first time. I cried, of course, and when they whisked him into the next room with John by his side, I could hear him crying. It made me so happy first, because I knew he was alive and well, but the longer I went without him the more I felt the pull of "he's crying because he needs mommy".

The worst part of the c-section? Not being able to hold Jacob for more than an hour after his birth. The best part? Seeing my husband holding him first, and the absolute joy and pride coming from his face as he brought our son over to me.

And a year later, I cannot even explain all the ways my life has changed for the better. No matter what the sacrifice I've made, which hasn't felt like much this year, there is nothing I would change. My baby is happy, healthy, and even sometimes cuddly. He's intelligent and loves to point at things and say "be-gock?" which I guess is his way of saying "what's that?" He gives the best hugs and open-mouthed kisses a mama could ask for, loves people, loves his family, and brings so much love and laughter into our home. I cannot wait to see what the next year holds.

...A Year Ago Today...

Was probably the most emotionally demanding day of my life.

My doctor's appointment (41w1d) was a rollercoaster of emotions. First of all, I was thrilled because it was with my favorite doc out of the 5 rotating OB's at my practice. He was supportive of my hopes for low-intervention and was very laid back. When he checked, baby was head down, everything seemed good, but I had nothing going on "down there". Since we were at 41 weeks and he knew induction was a last resort for me, we did the "NST" which is where they monitor the baby's heart and movement and their response to any contractions (not that I had any). Sometimes they give you a low dose of Pitocin before they do this just to try to manufacture some uterine movement, but my doc didn't. No biggie, JTD passed with flying colors and the only hurdle left was the ultrasound. We were fully prepared to go back home and wait another week if needed.

Plus, the prospect of an ultrasound was really exciting...as someone with a normal pregnancy, I had not seen my little boy in pictures since my 18 week appointment! My excitement, however, faded as the ultrasound tech took measurement after measurement and commented more than once about my fluid level, saying it was harder to get a clear picture with so much less amniotic fluid in there. Also, my little guys' parts were measuring much smaller than they should have been. For a 41 week baby, the doc was probably expecting to see an 8 pounder, but what we saw was more like a 6 pounder with thighs measuring at 36 weeks. Had my baby stopped growing?

That, and the low amniotic fluid, made the decision for Doc. He called us into his office and said, "it looks like a great day to have a baby". My husband beamed like a proud new dad while I tried to hold back my tears. I knew what was coming. I was only dilated 1cm, having no contractions whatsoever, and the baby hadn't even really dropped. At this point, we had our bag packed and ready, but we still asked if we could go home and come back. Mainly because I was kind of in shock, and my husband really needed to mow the lawn. No, really...it had been more than a week and we knew it would be another week before he could get to it.

We left with plans to come back to the hospital that evening, and I cried almost the whole way home. Hubby decided it was a good plan to stop by work and let them know that he was taking his 2 week "paternity leave" starting then, and one of his co-workers felt the need to come out and congratulate me. So there I was, sobbing in the car, feeling even more guilty because I should be elated at the fact that I would be a mom the next day, and all I could think about was how it wasn't supposed to happen this way. While hubby mowed the grass I furiously signed online and read every birth story I could find while researching Bishop's Score. My Bishop's Score gave me a 45% chance of a c-section. Somehow, I knew as soon as I saw that, that I would be having one. So I did more research on c-sections and calmed myself down a little with the birth stories I saw posted that ended that way. I didn't want it to end that way, but at least I felt more prepared. (Thank GAWD that episode of Gray's Anatomy where that baby's arm gets severed during a c-s hadn't aired yet.)

I think I was finally feeling more myself when we got to the hospital. I was reading my gossip mags, hanging in bed, excited that I would finally get to feel labor pains. No, I'm not kidding, I really couldn't wait to feel a contraction. At this point, I was READY. For anything. I knew I could handle it.

Oh, how God takes our plans and throws them out the window sometimes.

A Year Ago Today...

I was 41 weeks pregnant, and finally starting to wonder if things were ever going to go as planned.

(*I made you look, right...you thought this would be a birthday letter? Oh, no, ladies...this is Part 1 of a 3 day birth story. Pull up a chair and a cup of coffee and enjoy.*)

My nature is typically like that of a non-planner. My family's vacation agenda is actually classified as "No Agenda". In fact, that's the name of my dad's boat because when my sister and I were around 12 and 16, he got tired of us saying "what's on the agenda today?" So I didn't write a birth PLAN, I wrote some birth "preferences" (no, really, the sheet I took to the hospital said "birth preferences for Baby ____"). I had hoped to have a natural and minimally medicated labor and delivery. I was more comfortable with the idea of narcotic pain relief than the dreaded epidural, but since I had only prepared with the simple "here are all of your options" birth class and not invested time in Bradley, water birth, or Hypno-Babies, I knew that the chances of me not giving in to the pressure were about 50-50.

Mainly, I just wanted to go with the flow. (Word of advice: in retrospect, this was not a good plan, more on that tomorrow.)

So, on Sunday, at 41 weeks pregnant (and still wearing a non-maternity top, so what if it was stretched to the limit) I took a leisurely trip to the Farmer's Market with my BFF. We bought peaches for me to blanch and freeze, and then she gave me reflexology to try to help induce labor***. Walking and this one session of a wonderful foot massage were the only natural labor-induction techniques I tried. Maybe I would change that, too, if I could go back in time. But maybe not...I had a very relaxing week off before baby came, thinking about a lot of things. Mostly how much my life was going to change, and I better soak up my last chance to be lazy.

I had my OB appointment set for the next afternoon, and I was hoping that all the walking was doing something to stretch out my cervix. As a member of an online pregnancy community, I tried not to be discouraged by the fact that I had remained closed up tight the entire 3rd trimester, because every other day were birth story posts about how they went in for their 39,40 week appointment, talked over induction because they still hadn't dilated or effaced, only to go home and begin labor spontaneously.

Oh, how I waited that week to begin labor spontaneously. I had such an easy pregnancy, without so much as a vaginal cramp, but at this point I was actually starting to find myself jealous of the women complaining at 28 weeks of all the Braxton-Hicks they were having. Call me crazy, but I wanted to KNOW what a contraction was, what I was in for, even just a preview so that I could better gauge if I would be able to handle labor or not.

To wrap up Sunday, I relaxed for my reflexology session and went to bed early. No broken water, no labor pains, not so much as a hint of contraction in my girly region. What on earth would we find out at the doctor's appointment?

***Although I am in no way certified, for any of my readers out there full term pregnant and ready to give birth, try rubbing the indentation of skin between your heel and your ankle bone. Use firm, long strokes.***

Joyous Occasion, Part Deux.

I've shared what led up to his birth...let's see if I can squeeze out the rest of his first week before thinking of all of the other subjects I want to write about. This is the best part, so it shouldn't be too hard.

So, Jacob was born relatively healthy, although there was some aprehension caused by his small size to be a past-term baby. He was breathing when born, but did have some trouble clearing his lungs on his own, so the doctors had to do extensive suctioning and as a result, his APGAR scores weren't as high as I would have liked. Of course, I really didn't find any of this out until well afterwards, so I didn't have to be in worried-mom mode while I was stitched back together. Most of what I remember was hearing him cry in the next room and at first being happy to hear that sound, and then instantly having the maternal instinct to feel sad that he was crying for his mommy and that this was the first time he was ever separated from me.

What an amazing week in the hospital we had...it was like a little hotel vacation for us to bond as a family, with occasional help from his many grandparent's stopping by. There were moments when I couldn't wait to get him home and away from the intrusions by doctors, nurses, and bill collecters (seriously, they try to get you to pay while you're still laid up in the hospital...FYI, you can decline and ask them to send an invoice after they file your insurance). There were other moments where I couldn't imagine how we could do it without a full medical staff there when we needed them.

The hospital photographer was a disastrous experience, yet one that taught me about my own maternal instinct. Baby was gone the second morning for his circumcision and Hep B vaccine, and I was alone for the first time and blissfully taking a nap. We would be going home the next day and based on what everyone with kids had told me the previous 8 months, I would never sleep again. When Jacob came back, he was sleeping, so I was excited for the quiet, cool, dark room and just the two of us snoring away. Within 30 minutes, the photographer showed up. I told her that I really didn't think it was a good time and that I hadn't really prepared, and she brushed me off breezily, explaining that she wouldn't bother him too much.

Um, yeah, then she spent the next ten minutes trying to get him to wake up for the picture as I stood behind her explaining that I really didn't care if his eyes were closed, and that he needed his rest after his "surgery". I think she was disappointed, but I really didn't care how good her stupid picture was at that point. She was disturbing MY BABY. When she came back a while later, I just pretty much gave her the stank eye when she tried to coerce me into buying photos. I have to say, she was such a b*tch about it anyway...she came to show me the proofs and snottily said, "sorry he looks so unhappy." Um, yeah, he looks unhappy because you poked and prodded him for half an hour, lady. (I have to admit, he is the most beautiful unhappy newborn I've ever seen in those photo proofs. I'm glad I have them so I can tell this story for years to come.)

Wow. Big diversion. That's what happens when you have to work on a post a little at the time for three days. Anyway, my point is, despite my birth story lacking the surprise element, the excitement of "I think it's time", and was not what I planned, what is important and what matters is that I healed in miraculous time, and three days later went home with a beautiful, sweet, wonderful baby with a cute little cry and humongous hands and feet.

And I have never felt more blessed.

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men...

...often go awry. This phrase describes my birth story, which I will share with you now. Now, I was not one of those people with a "plan" and a checklist filled out. Nor was I determined to have a natural birth at all costs. I had a preference, but I also did research on all the possibilities so that no matter what happened I would be cool, calm, and collected.

And I was. Maybe a little too much.

My preference was a natural and unmedicated hospital birth, hopefully not an induction, with the ability to be in control and move freely as much as possible. What happened was as far from that as you could get.

I was dues on August 16. My last day of work was August 14. I had secretly hoped all along that he would be just a little late because I needed to rest and clean my kitchen. I spent the entire next week home alone during the day, hanging out online, watching Intervention and A Baby Story, lazily cleaning the kitchen at the pace of one cabinet wipe-down a day. I did freeze a lot of Farmer's Market peaches and veggies. I think I went to the market twice that week. I was so relaxed about it that it was actually annoying for people to give me a million and a half suggestions as to how to get that baby to "hurry up and come out". I posted this as my FaceBook status: http://www.haveyouhadthatbabyyet.com/

I did not do much in the way of inducing myself naturally. I think I bought a pineapple but then was too lazy to cut it up. I walked most evenings, but it was a snail's pace stroll around the barely half-mile loop of my neighborhood. Hubby made me ice cold foot baths while we watched TV at night and put peppermint in them. The closest I got to inducing myself was when my good friend came over the next weekend (40W and 6D) and did labor-inducing reflexology. (I did actually walk a little over a mile that day.) I fell asleep and had no cramping later as expected.

I never had any contractions, even Braxton-Hicks, no back labor, nothing, and the doctor's over my last 3 weekly appointments had pretty much put me back and forth between a fingertip and a half centimeter dilated each time. At my 41 week appointment, I was disappointed to hear that I was still only barely dilated, but my doctor knew my birth preference and was prepared to send me home for another few days. Until the ultrasound. You always know something is not right when the tech doesn't say much. I kept looking at her measurements and thinking that something was definitely not as it should be. Most of his "parts" were measuring at the size of a 36 to 38 week old baby. Having a healthy and complication-free pregnancy meant that this was the first ultrasound we had had since 18 weeks, so we had no indication of any problems.

When the doc called us into his office he said, "well, it looks like a good day to have a baby." And I think I burst into tears. All along I had been trying to prepare myself for the possibility of induction, but I had researched it thoroughly and my Bishop's Score was giving me a 45% chance of a c-section. We made the decision to go home, mow the lawn (yes, I really asked my doctor if we could have a few hours because my husband needed to mow the lawn...if it hadn't been done then we would have arrived home from the hospital to a forest), and gather ourselves. I cried the whole way. There and back. I tried to tell myself that there was still a greater chance I could deliver vaginally, but I think that deep down, I knew.

Knowing this, I should have pushed myself and the hospital staff harder during my induction, but I was just way too "go with the flow". There is such a thing as being too relaxed. And I was.

They started the evening of August 24th with a dose of Cervadil sometime around 8PM. It was slightly uncomfortable, but mostly it was just cumbersome to get up and go to the bathroom with what felt like 15 different tubes (IV, fetal monitor, uterus monitor, etc.) hanging from me. Luckily, I'm a woman with little shame and even less modesty, so asking for help is not a problem. If it hadn't been for the draft, I would have just gone naked because it would have been much easier to move around.

When the Pitocin started around 8AM on the 25th, I was relieved to not be living out all of the Pit horror stories I had been told. My contractions started slowly and became more intense gradually. I think this lulled me into believing that lying in bed wasn't so bad, and that there really wasn't any need to get up and move because I was doing so well. Around 11, they came in and I was dilated just at about 1 1/2 cm, enough that my doc could break my water. This was honestly the most painful part of my entire labor. At 2PM, my contractions had gotten still stronger and I was hoping that I would be around 4cm, but my uncooperative cervix had not budged. They decided to attach an internal monitor to see if the contractions were as strong as we all thought. Also, she suggested at this point that I take some Stadol (a narcotic pain med) because it looked as though we were going to be laboring for quite a while. I accepted, only because I had done my research and knew that I needed a nap more than anything because I was fully expecting this labor to go on for a day or more if needed.

My contractions got very strong during and after the Stadol...the internal monitor confirmed that they were strong enough that they should be moving mountains, and I was definitely feeling it...having to close my eyes and breathe through contractions. They were about 30 seconds apart and lasting 60-90 seconds, sometimes not fully coming down before peaking a second time. Just after 5, the doctor came again. My husband and I had already discussed it and had a "plan" mapped out: if I was dilated past 4 or 5cm, no more drugs, because I knew I could handle it; between 2-4 and I would have asked for an epidural because the worst was yet to come, and less than 2cm and we would probably be heading for the operating room.

The doctor gave me the option to continue in active labor since little boy was in no trouble whatsoever, and if I regret anything, it's not saying very clearly at this point, "I want to continue, and I want to be off the monitors at least 15 minutes of every hour so that I can labor in different positions." As much as I had prepared for standing up for my rights during labor and delivery, being there in the moment and believing that I was not able to dilate and that I should opt for the c-section just swept all of my plans under the rug. I wasn't in extreme pain, I wasn't "done" and ready for him to be out, I just allowed myself to be led to believe that nothing would change if I continued laboring.

What happened next was unlike anything I've ever seen: as soon as I said c-section, it was like 15 people showed up to prep me at once, and within 12 minutes I was being wheeled away. The operating room was even crazier! I will spare the details of the surgery, just know that I felt nothing but a little pressure, and that when Jacob was born and I heard him cry it was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.

Whew. If you've read this far, wow...I really appreciate it! I will continue tomorrow with some mushy after-the-birth stories. But for now, this perfect 7 1/2 month old is crying for his mommy and I'll only have another hour with him before bed, so I must bid adieu!