Seven years ago, part 2

We arrived at the hospital around 9am maybe. A quick test determined that my water had indeed broken, and they admitted me to the labor and delivery floor.

I have a hard time remembering details… well certain kinds of details. When I hear other moms tell the stories of their labors and deliveries, I feel inadequate when they start throwing out very specific moment-by-moment facts, like by 3:42 pm my contractions were coming every 5 minutes but I was only 3 cm dilated, his head high up, 60% effacement but after they started the pitocin drip I was 10 cm dilated, full effacement, and his head fully engaged by 4:18. That kind of information does not stay in my brain for long.

I asked Darin to write down some of the details but of course I can’t find those notes now. I did run across endless emails written during my pregnancy and I may have to write another post with funny pregnancy moments, like the time a casual acquaintance at work asked me if I planned to breastfeed the baby. When I told her I was, she replied, “Well even if you don’t do anything else, I would strongly recommend that you start preparing your nipples now!”

I just smiled and nodded as if preparing my nipples was something that I had obviously given a lot of thought to and had completely under control. And then I ran from the room horrified. Who knew you had to prepare them? And how??? Should I be talking to my nipples? Warning them about what they’re in for? Should I get a puppy and let him chew on them for a while?

What I can tell you now, two kids later, both breastfed far longer than I ever planned, is that my nipples were completely, entirely, utterly unprepared. My nipples had absolutely no clue what they were getting themselves into. Once living a life of leisure they were forced into servitude. Endless hours of on-demand feeding. They were yanked on, chewed on, they’ve been through hell and back. Yet, even now, I still have absolutely no idea how I might have prepared them. Even if I had tried to warn them, they would not have believed me.

Oh but back to labor and delivery, I was saying that I don’t remember the technical details. I do remember other details though. I remember that my labor & delivery nurse had short blonde hair and made me feel totally at ease right from the first moment I arrived. I remember that she had two kids, named Amanda and Chase. Since Amanda was my chosen girl’s name and in the homestretch I still hadn’t decided on a boy’s name, I thought maybe it was some kind of sign and I was heavily weighing "Chase" as an option… not remembering that Scott had vetoed it because he didn’t want his son named after a bank.

I remember that the door to my room, along with several spots in my room were plastered with signs warning that it was a latex-free zone because of my latex allergy. When I casually mentioned that it seemed like they were making an awfully big deal of it, I got a very stern lecture from a nurse who explained that latex allergies are extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. She made it clear that if I wasn’t careful, one day I might drop dead, killed by a pair of latex-soled tennis shoes.

I can’t remember who arrived at the hospital first: Darin or Grandma & Grandpa T. When I was still at home, Grandma and Grandpa T had called to ask if we had a baby yet. I was annoyed at Scott, instantly assuming, that rather than sleeping as I had instructed, he had been in bed calling everyone we knew on his cell phone.

I reported, “Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving for the hospital shortly!” They were shocked. Turns out they’d only been calling to check in. As Grandpa stood by my bedside chatting with me, I had to stop talking during the contractions… to catch my breath from the pain…but I continued to smile, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. Nobody wants to see someone they care about in pain, right?

It was a relief when my sister Darin arrived. I think I invited her to the delivery when I was about three minutes pregnant. I seriously have no clue how women deliver babies without her there. I personally would not do it. Darin is like a one-woman show... a Swiss Army knife in sister form. She’s my mediator/counselor/PR person/personal assistant/birthing coach. And most of all she makes me laugh.

I wasn’t quite sure how Scott would handle the delivery room. An incident early on in the pregnancy made me think it might not go well. He’d gone with me to my second doctor appointment and nearly had to pull the car over when I casually mentioned that there was a possibility I might have another ultrasound and they might have to do it vaginally instead of the other way where they rub the instrument over your belly.

He FREAKED. “They’re going to do it HOW???

He seemed fine when we got to the office though and had all of the nurses giggling when he insisted on weighing me himself and loudly announcing my weight to everyone as I growled, “You’re never coming here again!” The nurse said she was surprised my blood pressure was so low after meeting my husband. Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.

Scott started to look pale when the nurse told me I would need to disrobe from the waist down for my ultrasound. He asked her if he could have a hit of nitrous oxide. Thinking it would distract him, I handed him the digital camera suggesting he do a video clip of the baby. But it was too late, he was already in full force panic, his face white, his forehead sweating. He said he’d taken one look at the medical equipment on the counter and got woozy.

“Umm, Sweetie…those are tongue depressors and Q-tips.”

He explained that it was just the whole doctor’s office thing. “You know they tortured me as a kid...I hate doctors… I can’t stay.” I took the camera away before he dropped it and was trying to figure out if he was going to pass out or if I was going to have to chase him down the hallway wrapped in this giant paper napkin… when the doctor walked in and Scott snapped back into manly-man-mode. I still can’t believe he tried to sell me on that whole, “I hate poop, you hate blood; you change the diapers, I’ll change the band-aids” routine when this is how he reacted to a routine doctor appointment.

Oh but back to labor and delivery…

I don’t remember how much I was dilated the first time they checked me. I just remember I wasn’t nearly as far along as I expected or hoped. I was irritated that Scott had rushed me because had I stayed home, I would have had time to reorganize my closet and clean the ceiling fans. At some point they started me on pitocin to help move things along.

The nurse showed me a chart similar to the one above to measure my pain. I remember Darin and I laughing about that chart. It just seemed ridiculous and completely inadequate. Was that chart designed for a child? Was it designed by a child? I mean I’m a woman. I've already mentioned that I smile through my pain. A woman can get a 104 degree fever and be in danger of coughing up a lung but as long as she can stand up, she will paste on a smile and go on as normal.

They might as well have handed me a chart covered with photographs of several smiling women and let me guess which one was in the most pain: The virgin Mary smiling weakly after having just ridden endless miles on a donkey before giving birth to Jesus in a manger… Maya Angelou, smiling serenely while transforming 80 years of pain into poetry… Mother Teresa smiling peacefully as she witnesses endless suffering and poverty…perhaps Martha Stewart smiling happily from behind glass in prison while holding up a beautifully calligraphied sign for her lawyer, saying “Get me out of this f*ing place NOW or heads are going to roll.”… Lorena Bobbit smiling brightly holding a knife in one hand and her husband’s severed penis in the other.

I thought a more helpful chart would have cartoon drawings of actual injuries:

A stick figure with a splinter, a stick figure with a skinned knee, one with a severed arm, one with a gunshot wound to the head… that type of thing. How would you rate your pain compared to these? I really think I could wrap my brain around those possibilities.

Early on in my pregnancy I watched dozens of episodes of TLC’s “A Baby Story”. Each show follows a pregnant woman from shortly before birth through labor and delivery. I noticed that women who were completely determined not to have an epidural during the pre-labor interviews, quite frequently ended up begging and pleading in a high pitch rage for them at some point during labor. So I decided very early on not to do that whole brave face thing myself. Sign me up for the epidural, please!

I can’t remember the magic number I had to choose on the pain chart before it was epidural time, but I really thought I’d have to suffer more first. I do remember falling head over heels in love with the anesthesiologist who gave me that epidural. We only spent a brief few minutes together, many of them with him shoving a ginormous needle into my spine. But I loved him, nevertheless. Somewhere there is a photo of him and me together. I’m in my hospital gown smiling a happy, giddy, suddenly pain-free new love smile… meanwhile he’s smiling that oh brother, another laboring woman has fallen in love with me smile…

My entire outlook changed after I got my epidural. The rest of the day is a bit of a blur, but a happy, mostly pain-free day. It was late in the day before I got to start pushing and it did seem like I had to push FOREVER.

Finally, at 8:33pm the baby arrived. I waited several long agonizing seconds before the doctor gave me the information I was waiting for: “She is perfect and beautiful.”
SHE!?! She??? … It’s a girl!!!

Amanda Noelle was 8lbs, 20 1/4 inches long and with a full head of dark hair. She was perfect and beautiful just like the doctor said. And I was happier than I’d ever been in my life.