A Baby Story or "I would have died in childbirth if I was a pioneer"

Well, I didn't finish blogging about my summer.  (I haven't even written about my month's worth of frozen dinners- now THAT is a story!)
However, on September 14, this beautiful baby girl came into my life, and I want to make sure I write down everything about my experience before I forget about it.

TMI DISCLAIMER: This is my journal entry about giving birth.  If you don't want all of the gory details- skip this post.  I'm not making you read it, so you can't blame me if you think it's gross.  You've been warned.
  
My due date was September 8th.  I had kind of already guessed that I might be late (most women are with their first pregnancy), so I wasn't too surprised or disappointed.  In fact, I decided that I was going to treat myself on my due date and every day thereafter that I didn't go into labor.  That way, I figured that I wouldn't get depressed.  I would just see it as an opportunity for another treat.  On my due date, I went out to breakfast with Jason, sis-in-law Meaghan, and Mom-in-law.  We had Dutch pancakes.  Lots of fun.  I posted about it on Facebook, and got a good reaction.  Since a lot of people were anxious to hear any news from me, I decided to keep posting about my treats.  That way, they would know my "still pregnant" status without having to ask.  (One of my pet peeves during weeks 36-41 was when people would call me for no other purpose than to ask if I was in labor.  Um... if I was, I wouldn't answer the phone.)  So here's how the rest of the week went...

Sunday- one day overdue- Ghirardeli Brownies

Monday- two days overdue- So You Think You Can Dance Marathon

Tuesday- three days overdue- Juice Smoothie and a bath

Wednesday- four days overdue- Tim Hortons

On Wednesday night, after eating some Timbits (donut holes), Jason and I spent two and a half hours delivering flyers... let me explain.  Every year, the LDS church in British Columbia helps the BC Food Bank with their Thanksgiving Drive. (Thanksgiving in Canada is in early October...I know- weird.  Also there are no pilgrims.)  During the week, we deliver flyers with bags encouraging people to donate food, and then on Saturday, we go around and pick up the bags of food and deliver them to the church to be organized and donated.  Last year Jason and I shared a route with Jason's brother, Cameron, and his family.  It was lots of fun.  This year when they passed around sign up sheets, I looked at the dates, realized it was all happening the week after my due date and thought, "Oh, well, we will volunteer next year."  Jason thought, "Last year was so much fun- but it didn't take us long enough.  I will sign us up for TWO routes!"  So, while last year we split one route among six people, this year we split two routes among two people (one of whom was 10 months pregnant.)  Oh, and by the way, all of the houses along our first route had LONG steep driveways with lots of stairs and inclines.  Needless to say, we never finished.  After the first hour, we called Jason's brother Jared and his family to help.  An hour later, his toddlers had to go home to bed, so we were back on our own.  We managed to start our second route, but it was dark and every part of my body was aching, so I finally made Jason take me home.  (Later, we would have to beg ward members to pick up the food on our routes as we were still in the hospital on Saturday.)

The next day, I was still achy and tired.  As the day progressed, my achiness increased and started to focus on my back.  Then the pain started to come at regular intervals.  I had a doctors appointment scheduled for 2:50 pm, where they were planning on stripping my membranes, but by the time I went in, I was pretty sure that I was already in labor.  The doctor checked me and told me that I was dilated to a three.  During the exam he suddenly asked, "has your water broken?  I told him that I didn't think so.  He said, "I think it just did."  Since I had tested positive for Group B Strep, I was told to go straight to the hospital to start an IV of antibiotics.  They would call ahead to let the hospital know we were coming.        

Since I do what I'm told, I went straight to the hospital.  We didn't even stop to pick up my suitcase on the way there.  When we arrived, no one was expecting us, and this did not make the reception desk happy.  They spent, what seemed to me, to be an absurd amount of time checking us in.  In their defense, my status had changed since I had pre- registered.  (My Care Card had miraculously come in the mail a few days before- which meant that my hospital bill would be covered- a completely unexpected miracle!)  They took their time checking my care card and comparing it with my previous records.  My contractions had gotten a lot worse since my water had broken, and I was pretty bitter that the five months pregnant woman and her husband who were pre- registering got the only chairs at the reception desk.  No one seemed to notice or care that I was wincing in pain and leaning against the desk every other minute.  They then brought me to "triage" where I was given my IV of antibiotics and asked a series of questions that no one listened to the answer to.  I remember an especially annoying nurse who talked too much, insisted on calling me Katherine, and kept asking if I was having contractions, and then disregarding my answer- telling people I wasn't having them!  There in triage, I also met the doctor that would deliver my baby- Dr. Jeff Kornelson.  I had been going to a clinic of doctors for my pre-natal care, with the assumption that by the time I delivered the baby, I would have met all of doctors that could  be on call when I went in to labor.  I thought I had met all of them (and I had a few preferences).  I was wrong, though, because I hadn't yet met Jeff.  Luckily, he was wonderful.  In fact, if I had to choose now between my favorite doctors from the clinic, and him, I would choose him. He looked at the slide of the fluid from when my water broke that the doctors office had sent with us.  Then he gave it back to Jason when he found out he was a Chemistry teacher with access to microscopes.   They had trouble finding a good vein for my IV.  (Surprise, surprise.) They burst a vein in my left hand and then called for help.  The IV expert came and managed to get a precarious IV set up into my right hand.  Then, finally, they took me to my room- and we were super excited to get a room with a big tub! 

When Jason saw me settled, he left to go home and pick up my suitcase (and pack his own.)  My care got a lot better once I was in my room.  They must save the nice nurses for the rooms.  At some point, they left me alone to go to the bathroom, and while I was in there, I had a really bad contraction and threw up the chicken cacciatore that I had eaten the night before.  So disgusting- I will never be able to eat it again.  And it got EVERYWHERE- on my clothes, the floor, the IV  Seriously, I was so close to the toilet, you'd think I could have managed to turn around and aim, but I. Could. Not.  I didn't know what to do.  I was in so much pain, I couldn't think clearly to find a solution that involved cleaning myself up and getting back to my bed.  So I pushed the emergency button in the bathroom.  I felt super guilty when my ridiculously nice nurse came running in to be greeted by a vomit splattered bathroom.  She was very nice about it, though.  I had been waiting until Jason came back to get into the tub (He was bringing our swimsuits, and I knew he wanted to get in with me.)  However, the puking incident gave me incentive to get myself clean.  So I got over my modesty, took off all my clothes, and hopped in the tub. 

Everyone kept telling me how much the tub was helping me with my contractions, but I found this not to be the case.  I was quite as miserable in the tub as I was out of the tub.  Dr. Jeff kept sending messages that my contractions needed to be progressing or he would intervene with drugs to speed things up.  I didn't want lots of interventions and I felt like my contractions were just as terrible as they could be.  The problem, though, was that I was feeling them in my back.  Apparently, my sweet baby was positioning her head so that the hard part of her skull was pushing against my tail bone.  I tried all kinds of positions in the tub to make myself more comfortable and to convince the baby to move, but nothing helped.  Also, Jason wasn't back yet, and it was making me super sad.  Finally I called him, and he was still at home.  He was waiting for a member of the ward to come pick up something for the Young Men activity that evening.  I could NOT believe this.  "Did you tell him that your WIFE WAS IN LABOR!?" I cried.  Luckily, the guy arrived at our apartment at this moment, and Jason promised that he was on his way.

When Jason arrived, the back rubbing commenced.  We also set up a movie on his laptop to try to distract me.  Unfortunately, the movie was this terrible Nicolas Sparks story with Zac Efron as this boring soldier, and my contractions were just a lot more interesting at the time.  About an hour into the movie, I decided that I wanted out of the tub.  I also wanted them to check me to see how dilated I was.  (I had in my mind that I wanted an epidural after I was dilated to a 6.  This, I thought, would be far enough to keep the epidural from slowing my progress and it would prevent further interventions.)  The nurses, though, knowing my motivation, wouldn't check me before I tried other things to deal with the pain.  So they made me walk around the maternity ward (which made me feel worse- just as I had suspected it would).  Then they had me sit on a medicine ball, which was more comfortable than lying on a bed, but it wasn't magic or anything.  They also gave me laughing gas which tasted funny, gave me a headache, and made me even more nauseous.  (Which was amazing, since I had been puking regularly ever since the cacciatore incident- I kept a bowl close by now). 

Finally they checked me- and I was at a 4!  I was SO depressed!  I had been at a 3 at 2:50, and now, at 9:00 at night, SIX hours later, I had only dilated one centimeter.  Apparently my back contractions were painful, but not productive.  The nurse went and talked to the doctor and she came back with the most merciful verdict ever- oxytocin to speed up labor and an epidural to deal with the pain.  It was more interventions than I wanted and it was sooner than I wanted them, but the nurse gave the recommendation so firmly, that I was relieved to give up my plan and go along with it. 

Then we waited for everything to get set up and for Dr. Jeff to come and stick a needle in my spine.  It seemed like 4 hours, but it was probably about 20 minutes.  The epidural was a DREAM.  I was exhausted from a day of pain and I went right to sleep, barely noticing the nurse checking all of my vitals every 15 minutes.  At around 1 in the morning I woke up because I was in pain again.  It felt like the most painful diarrhea in the world was moving down my intestines, except the feeling was coming and going in regular contractions.  I pushed the button that was supposed to give me more of that sweet sweet epidural goodness, but while it numbed out my stomach more, it didn't seem to help my back.  Jason was sleeping, so my nurse (a sweet young blond woman named Gayle, who was my all time favorite person I met at the hospital) would get up on my bed and push down on my hips with all of her strength every time I had a contraction.  This helped enormously, and I bless her heart every day for her willingness to do that for me every other minute for several hours.  I'm also grateful for her, because she let me go to the bathroom even though her training told her I shouldn't be able to do so with my epidural.  Dr. Jeff had said I could try it.  So even though she had never seen anyone with an epidural walk around, and even though I was twice her size and would have caused lots of problems if my legs had buckled as she was walking me to the bathroom, she held my arm and helped me there.  The second time I was in the bathroom, that painful diarrhea feeling suddenly made me want to poo really bad.  I told her, and she told me to not try!  When I came back to bed, she checked me, and I had dilated to a 10!  (Yeah Oxytocin!)  It was 5 am- six hours after they gave me my lovely interventions.  She sent for the doctor, started giving me pushing advice, and then her shift was over and she went home.  I was sad that Gayle had been with me for 12 hours, but wouldn't see the baby born.  (Note- She came back to see the baby during her next shift.  I thought that was pretty neat.)

Then- the horror began.  Pushing.  Nothing prepares you for it.  I thought the screaming in movies was made up for dramatic purposes, but I screamed- in pain and horror at the awfulness of pushing.  Dr. Jeff had warned me that the epidural that he gave me wouldn't help much with pushing.  He wanted me to be able to feel things so that I could push more effectively.  I think he may have been wrong about his theory, though.  I think I may have been able to push much more effectively if I didn't feel like I was using all of my strength to rip my own body in half with the power of weak and rarely used muscles.  I tried several positions, and ended up in the traditional one with the added help of pulling on a towel wrapped around a bar set up in front of me.  After a while, Dr. Jeff told me her head just wasn't moving away from her bad position and he gave me the option of using a vacuum to help her move.  I felt guilty about saying yes, but I did it, because I was pretty sure I was going to die if she didn't get out of me soon.  Then things started happening, but not very quickly.  He kept on telling me that my next contraction was going to be it- that I was going to have this baby.  But every contraction ended without a baby.  Time kept passing, and I felt her head slowly stretching things to painful extremes, but I couldn't stretch it that extra few inches, and even though Jason thought I just wasn't pushing as hard as I could, Jason is dumb and he should try having the next baby! (JK-kinda.  Poor Jason is getting a bad rap in this post.  He was actually a wonderful support, and I couldn't have done it without his calm presence and willingness to bring ice chips.  But seriously- we talked afterwards about the pushing, and he had no idea what I was going through).  Anyway, two and a half hours after I started pushing, Dr. Jeff had mercy on me and cut me.  So worth it.  The baby came right out and they placed her on my chest.  In movies, this is when the music swells and we know that a miracle has occurred and the mother is forever bonded to her child.  My only thought was, "Thank goodness that is over." 

(I didn't really need the magic, though, because I had been bonded to this child long before she was born.) 

My second thought came as I finally worked up the energy to look at her.  "Why is she so beautiful?"  I'm pretty sure I voiced the question aloud.  I was honestly confused.  I was expecting the lizard that Bill Cosby describes- purple swollen, and squished.  Her complexion was perfectly pink, her face was perfectly shaped.  How did I make a kid this cute?  And how did she stay this cute after all that we've been through?

Notice the "kool aid-like" blood stains

I think it's because I have the most amazing baby ever born.  More on this when I have time.