It's high time I did this, and everyone tells me that the longer I wait, the more memories that drift off into Never-Never Land. So here goes...(and it's a LONG one, so prepare yourself! Oh yeah, and there just might be some TMI [too much information] alerts, so prepare for that, too!)
May 8-10, 2009
We (Judi, Howard, Mark, Sundey, Ali, Jack, Keith and I) traveled to my dad's vacation house in La Quinta for Keith's birthday. Keith came home from work early so that we could make it there in time for our 7 p.m. dinner reservations. Unfortunately, while my dad and Yvette were en-route to the desert to join us, he came down with a terrible fever. They turned back; this was the right decision, as he was diagnosed with a nasty kidney infection and ended up hospitalized for several hours hooked up to an IV with both fluids and antibiotics. This was all whilst we enjoyed an opulent dinner including a steak tartare appetizer (fancy!) in a private room at the Hideaway.
The weekend was amazing. The boys golfed and the girls sunbathed in the backyard--the
weather was pristine and the pool a perfect temperature. I even felt comfortable enough around my family to sport my pre-pregnancy Chargers bikini! Don't believe me? Check out the pictures (Ali made me). The only thing that was slightly off about the weekend was me. My emotions were similar to those of PMS: I was incredibly sensitive and taking offense to totally benign statements. I even snapped at Keith and then dissolved into tears! This was certainly strange, but I chalked it up to increasing hormone supply in relation to my last month of pregnancy. Fortunately, I was able to bounce back and enjoy the rest of the weekend. Funny enough, I spotted Yvette's doggie pee pads in the master bathroom and snagged a couple of them hoping that (if properly placed on my side of the bed) they might save my mattress in case my water broke.
May 11, 2009
Monday was a flurry of activity. I did all of the laundry from our trip, cleaned out and put away my bag, and picked up the house. Come evening, I noticed that I had menstrual-like cramping. This was no different from my "irritable uterus" symptoms, though, so I figured it was just a relapse of some sort. They hung on all night long, never waning or intensifying, which was annoying and painful, but again, not necessarily a big red flag of any sort. I went to bed wondering when I'd meet my daughter. I just didn't realize it would be so very soon!
May 12, 2009
At 2:55, I awoke to the strangest sensation: hot water flowing from me onto my mattress. I leapt from the bed and called to Keith, "Holy cow, hon! I think my water just broke!" He awoke with a start while I assessed the situation over the toilet (well I wasn't going to ruin the carpet or my bed!).
I remember the sound of him fumbling for his glasses as he stumbled into the bathroom asking, "Okay, I have to ask, are you sure you just didn't pee?" Now high on adrenaline and fighting a quivering chin which was now bordering on quaking (shock was setting in), I laughed off his question and told him that this suggestion was an absolute impossibility. Natalie was on her way today. I think that deep inside, Keith knew that but was so shocked he had to ask. He ran around the house while I directed him ([TMI alert!] from the safety of the bathroom--after all, my water was still flowing!) through packing our bags. Yes, we were hopelessly underprepared for this trip, but had talked about it on countless occasions. I believe the conversation, every time we had it, went something like this:
"Honey, we need to pack our bags."
"Yes, we do."
Which was always followed by something like, "Why don't you do that today?" or "Let's do that this weekend." Procrastinators unite!
Needless to say, the bags stayed safely stowed in our guest room, empty and waiting. Fortunately, I have the greatest husband who is willing to happily run all over the house, gathering things for me (yoga pants!) and Natalie ("No, not that onesie. Get the other, cuter one.") without judging. Meanwhile, I was on the phone with the doctor on call and discovered that while I needed to make my appearance at the hospital soon, I was free to shower and make myself as beautiful as one can at four in the morning while in labor. Heh heh. The thought of a warm shower prior to the pain I was about to experience sounded like a great idea, so I gladly hopped in while Keith packed up the car with everything we'd ever need for the birth of our child (and more).
I calmly (contractions hadn't started yet and those menstrual-like cramps were blissfully absent at this time) blow-dried my hair, put on some light makeup (yes, I'm vain, and darn it, I wanted to look semi-good in those post-birth pictures), got dressed, and headed downstairs. I found Keith in the garage, struggling to re-install the car seat base over a humongous exercise (aka "birthing") ball. I watched him for a minute, hurling constructive suggestions at him, when suddenly, the cramps returned...with a vengeance.
Suddenly, my blase relaxation over getting to the hospital eventually was overshadowed by an immense need to have drugs immediately. Keith, however, was single-mindedly pursuing this venture with newfound passion and zeal. He foisted the blue ball at me through the passenger door with a terse, "Take this, will you? I've almost got it!" I channeled Godzilla and muttered something about getting to the hospital NOW. He quickly scrambled to finish the seat and off we went. [By the way--the drive to Fullerton from Yorba Linda is a relatively short one (at 4 a.m., it should be about 10-15 minutes), but when you're having contractions that are two minutes apart and horrendously painful, it feels like at least an hour.] Quick shout-out to ContractionMaster on the iPhone. Yes. There's an app for that, too.
We arrived at the hospital and searched for a parking spot close to the door; I was in labor, after all. Leaving everything in the car, Keith accompanied me to the brand new labor and delivery floor of the hospital. Fortunately for us, it was really early in the morning and we were immediately helped. My nurse, Jen, funny enough, was the same wonderful woman we had helping us during our first stint in the hospital when I began having pre-term labor pains. She noted how much pain I was in, remarked that everyone is different and yes, it was normal for me to be having contractions two minutes apart, and told me that she'd page the anesthesiologist as soon as possible. Yippee.
In the meantime, adorably perky and all-around great gal Nurse Jen came in, examined me (ouch, ouch, OUCH), and determined that I was not dilating enough after my water broke. She told me that they'd have to start Pitocin (a synthetic form of oxytocin, a natural hormone that hastens labor. Ironically enough, it's the same that creates that feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you fall in love and is generated each time your baby nurses. Crazy thing, that science). This was my biggest fear, by far. I had heard horrible things about Pitocin: most notably, it would make my contractions far worse and push them even closer together. At two minutes apart and with me in pain already, I wasn't relishing the idea of this. Still, when you're literally tied to the bed (with IVs, not restraints...give me some credit!), you don't really have a choice, now, do you?
They offered to give me "something to take the edge off" prior to an epidural and I thought, What the heck? I should go for it. I will only experience labor once or twice, so I might see how much pain I can take before submitting myself to the epidural. Stupid, stupid girl. But now, I have the gift of hindsight. Next time, I'll be entering the hospital, lifting the back of my shirt, and demanding them to give me heavy medication prior to donning a gown. Apparently, the "edge" to which they were referring is much more slight than the pain I experienced. My pain was a hungry, evil, drooling prehistoric beast, ready to swallow whole the idiot who dared to come into its path (me) whereas the drugs were out to tame something more like a slightly miffed platypus. Needless to say, I was not helped by either injection (yes, I asked for a second).
By now, the anesthesiologist (paradoxically both my most treasured and yet least favorite hospital staff member) had determined that I had the lowest pain threshold she'd ever seen; yes, she even remarked this publicly to all of the inhabitants of the room in what I remember as a snarky manner. (Given the circumstances, I will admit that I was probably taking things personally, but the declaration itself, regardless of tone, was unprofessional either way you cut it.) I wasn't amused, nor was I ashamed. We all have our own birth experience and dang it, this is mine. Now kindly inject some sort of elephant tranquilizer into my spinal cord, if you please.
Ahh...sweet relief! I was visited during what I like to call the "Lake Wobegon" period of my labor by everyone on both sides of the family: Dad, Yvette, Judi, Howard and Mark were all granted the green light. I also napped (yes, actual sleep!) while Ali, Mom, and Keith floated in and out of the LDR (labor/delivery/recovery) suite. After a cursory examination around 2:30 p.m., Jen declared that I was at 9-10 centimeters and might be ready to start pushing. She wanted to wait until I "felt like pushing" before we started though. To which I replied, "Um. I'm numb. Am I supposed to be feeling anything?" Apparently, even with an epidural, you still have the urge, so I waited for something to happen. Wait. What was that? A slight pain in my right side, similar to a runner's cramp but lower ebbed and flowed with each contraction. As I continued through labor, these cramps began to increase in intensity, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. So when Jen came to check on me around 3:10, I explained this feeling and she seemed convinced that we could try and see where the pushing got us.
Try we did. Without including scary details (and from what I remember, they are scary, but I hear that you're supposed to block them from your memory so that you will want to have another child some time in the future), I pushed like a champion for the next thirty minutes. Simultaneously, that strange pain was creeping in more and more with each series of pushes. At one point, I rested my hand on the top of my belly and burning hot shards of glass coursed through me. I gasped in horror as I tried to articulate to Jen what had just happened. She clarified that at this point in the process, the uterus has been contracting for so many hours that the merest touch can send someone up a wall...like me. Oops. Wish someone had told me before. Wait. Isn't my epidural supposed to be protecting me from little mishaps like that one? That is the general intent of an epidural but mine was rapidly wearing off from the top of the uterus down. When the doctor cruised in to play "catcher", I was huffing and puffing in major distress, hoping I was strong enough to actually go through with this (Ha! Like there was any other option?).
TMI ALERT!! Read on at your own risk. I've edited this to make sure that it's not too graphic, but I am telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Dr. Buchanan was on-call, so he would assist me rather than my actual doctor, Dr. Henderson. He popped in after Jen summoned him and was extremely supportive. What seemed like 24 hours (but was really only about 15-20 minutes) later, I saw my husband's face light up. Apparently, the head was crowning. I thought I'd experience that feeling and know,
without a doubt, that this was happening. Not so. Even though I could feel the pain of birth, I was so in the moment that I had to look at my husband's face (and doctor's and mom's and sister's) for confirmation. Once again, I did not feel the episiotomy that Dr. Buchanan humanely performed (after about five series of ineffective, but heartfelt pushes), and finally, Natalie had a peek at the world. She must have liked it because the rest of her followed with just a few more pushes.
They say you forget. And with it being October 19 as I write this, they're right. I have forgotten the finer points, but I remember feeling a great injustice as Keith oohed and aahed over our baby at her weighing and measuring. Why? Because I was being stitched up like a Thanksgiving turkey with NO drugs. Pain much? Add to that the mammoth amount of hormones coursing through my body and you've got a pretty hysterical woman. Fortunately, I'm a cool cucumber in these types of situations (like I've been through them before, right?). I just kept dialogue flowing with the rest of the room, listening for the "10 fingers, 10 toes" verification, and, when I felt that too much time had elapsed, demanded my damned baby! Um, hello? Everyone else is benefiting from all of my work. Let's reward those who most deserve it, hmm?
When that little, helpless, squishy pile of sweetness was placed on my chest, I was
overcome with so much emotion. She was (and is) a gift. I cannot express how I feel because it has grown exponentially since that day, but I know that I felt more than I have ever felt before. Like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day. I think the same happened for Keith. He was smitten then and is definitely more in love with that pudgy thing every day that she uses her feminine wiles to draw him in.Life is good.
