Sunday, June 25, 2017

The Long and Unexpectedly Short of It

When we last left off, the Poppy was born VBAC style on her due date, accompanied by two epidurals, some hours and a lot of discomfort.  When #3 was on the way, we planned another VBAC. His original due date was June 22nd, but that was moved up to the 16th, due to his measuring ahead.  But I wondered to myself--does the baby know the due date is moved?  

On Wednesday the 14th the doctor stripped the membranes. On the 15th I felt pretty terrible, mostly because of the 14th.  Luckily my mom was here and she kept everyone amused while I flopped around the house.  As with the Poppy, I had had contractions now and then for the last few weeks, but nothing consistent and nothing more than annoying. Around 5:00 I noticed they were getting more painful and at 7:00 I started timing them.  We put people to bed, then sat around until 9:30 or so.  Then off we went to the hospital and I cried most of the way because hormones?      

We arrived and I got checked at 9:45 and was at a 3 (of 10), which was...exactly where I was at my appointment the day before.  Sigh.  So the nurse said she'd check me in an hour and if anything changed then they'd admit me.  (Exactly what happened with the Poppy, if you recall [which you probably don't because why])  As with the Poppy, I threw up dinner, just shy of the 10:45 recheck time.  I think the nurse took pity on me at that point and said she could check whenever I was ready.  

I walked back and forth in the room until 11:15, the nurse came back and I was at a 5!  A 5!  Do you know how many hours it took to get to a 5 with the Poppy?  Actually, I myself do not know, but it was a lot longer.  Anyway, so I finally got admitted and a new team of nurses came in at 11:30 to put in my IV, which had to be done before I could get the epidural.  Even though I was planning for an epidural (as per my doctor's recommendation for a VBAC), I was really hoping to be more calm until that epidural came.  Not that I was a crazy person with the Poppy but, this being the second time around, I wanted to manage myself better.

The one nurse--I will call him Guy Nurse, because he was a guy--spent LITERALLY 20 minutes deciding where to place the IV.  He didn't want to put it in my hand because he thought that was "mean" so he finally put it in my wrist.  Except that didn't work so he put it in my hand after all.  Except that didn't work either and he had to take it out and blood sprayed all over.  Needless to say, I considered stabbing HIM with the needle many times. 

The other nurse--I will call her Lady Nurse, because she was a lady--put an IV in my other hand in about 30 seconds.  The lesson here is that it is MUCH more mean to take 20+ minutes making two failed attempts at an IV than it is to just put it in my dang hand.  But I suppose my irritation distracted me a bit from the contractions, HA.  Was that his plan all along??  

So, the time is now just shy of midnight.  The epidural guy is right next door, the IV is in, the doctor is coming and will break my water after the epidural is done.  The doctor arrives before the epidural guy (official job title) and decides to just go ahead and break my water.  The guy better hurry with the epidural, he says, because I'm at an 8.  An 8!  Hurray!  And also ow.  

About 30 seconds after breaking my water, the ow changed to an OW and I said, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!  The baby is coming right now!"  I have a read a LOT of birth stories and people always talk about the sudden need to push--now I know what they mean.  At first everyone was like ", it's okay, just relax..." but they quickly changed their minds.  Baby was riding the tidal wave right out the door.  

The epidural guy arrived about a minute later and offered to try anyway, at least just a local injection.  The nurses told me to skip it, as it clearly wouldn't take long, and they were right.  Nine minutes after the water breakage (an hour after being admitted) and baby was out, exactly on his (new) due date.  

(I guess he got the memo after all.)

8 pounds, 2 ounces and 20 inches of little baby perfection.

By the way, those nine minutes were super painful.  Just really awful.  I've had three babies now (!) and each of them arrived in such different ways and times (Miss A was certainly the slowpoke at being born).  But they have all been so worth it--worth the c section recovery, worth the two epidurals, worth the nine minutes.  

Happy you're here, little one. 

(And not just because I'm now heartburn freeeeeeeeeeeee!)