Birth Story

So, the birth story.


I always like to read these... especially on blogs I've been following for a bit. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll read just about any one's birth story, if I know them or not. Some women I know liken it to trading war stories. How horrible it was; and how, now that it's over, we can gloat and laugh about it. Or cringe together in horror. There's a good reason that God in his infinite wisdom made us forget the difficulty of childbirth, so that we would do it again. But those babies, man, they are totally worth it.


So, the birth story.


Actually, there's not much to tell.


After all of the back and forth with doctors and visits and dilating and bed rest and getting to the hospital and being sent home and drugs and drugs and shots and shots, the actual day was calm and peaceful.


I saw my OB on the 18th who said "well, you're more an 8 than a 7 now. Not to give you any more to worry about" and thusly we began discussions on how to get Iris into the world safely. The following day I would be 37 weeks, which would make the delivery A-OK in the eyes of most medical professionals. My sweet Dr. said "you may want to stay on the procardia through the weekend though, as I'll be in Utah." This was Wednesday afternoon. I asked if he would be offended if he wasn't the one to catch the baby. He smiled gently and said "oh no, it's fine if someone else does it." Then he suggested we have an amniocinesis to check the baby's lung development. That would be up to my perinatologist.


I got home, called the perinatologist and said "can we do an amnio tomorrow?" Much discussion ensued and they said that would have to be requested through my OB. I got on the phone with the OB's office, and waited. OH, and I got on youtube to check out how an amnio is done. SHUDDER.


I would never in my life have wanted one of those done, except if it meant that Iris would come out at the right time. I steeled myself for the procedure.


At about 5pm I got a call from the OBs office saying "you'll get the amnio done at 10 am, and then report to the hospital for induction at 5 pm."


WOOOOO HOOOOO!!!


Talking to my sister that night was great. I was excited, but scared. Mostly for the amnio. She suggested jokingly that I ask for a blind fold. I totally did this, and at about noon the next day when they finally were ready for me, I was given a towel to put over my eyes. Helped tremendously.


Just a quick note... all of these last minute happenings plus the birth? Yeah, they were right in the middle of my handsome husband's first two days of meetings for his new job. Not only did he stay by my side the entire time, he stayed on top of the paperwork and meetings the best he could by rearranging schedules with people and doing some things online. He was awesome and supportive. He always made me feel that the baby and I were first, no matter what.


So, Thursday the 19th, after 3 hours at the Parinatologist, we were sent home to wait the outcome of the amnio. If it was good, we could be induced at 5. She needed a score of at least 55. Score? This is a test all of a sudden?


We stopped at Target to pick up a couple of last minute items (I was gratefully in one of those electronic carts. I really couldn't walk very far) and while we were cruising the diaper aisle I got a call from the nurse at the parinatologists. "She scored an 83! Totally ready to go. You can go to the hospital early if you want!"

I was excited (good score baby, you aced the first test!) but the thought of going early was daunting. I was pooped. I showered and napped for 45 minutes before getting up and heading with my fabulous husband to the hospital.

We arrived on the dot at 5 and were greeted warmly. Our nurse (Denise? Darlene?) was a gem and prepped us and our lovely birthing suite. She handed me a yellow gown to put on, saying, "yellow means you're a fall risk". A fall risk? I asked. "Yeah, but you're getting an epidural and aren't going anywhere... ha!"

I had given birth naturally the first two times, but definitely wanted an epidural this time. The anesthesiologist arrived. Jovial round doctor with blond curly hair. Introduces himself as "Dr. McCoy". Oooh! I say "How often do people comment that you're the Star Trek Doc?" "All the time" says the good Dr. He's from Mississippi, has the coolest accent, was once a pharmacist, and spends the next 20 minutes or so chatting with handsome and I about hunting. Big sports enthusiast.

Finally, it's time for the epidural. Everyone told me it was a snap. "Compared to labor, this is super easy". Well, they forgot to tell me that women are normally in full labor when they perform this and are BEGGING to get any kind of relief. Me? I'm dilated to an 8 but am not having hard contractions. So, when they start poking me in the back it's painful. No, like P.A.I.N.F.U.L. I came very close to swearing (Ok, i said one tiny one) but was close to telling him to STOP STOP STOP and that I would just have her naturally again.

Then it was over and I started getting warm and tingly. Mmmm. tingles.

I was told that everyone took the epidural differently. Some could still feel pressure from their contractions. Some could feel when they needed to push. Me? I could feel nada. Seriously nothing. I wasn't sure I liked it.

Waters broken (yeah, I told her I had a lot of fluid. She was still astonished) and pitocin started. I brought my MP3 and a speaker and looped Chopin. Lights were dimmed. Very tranquil. The nurses later stated that they wanted to come back into our room and spend the evening, it was so peaceful.

About an hour and a half into the process, handsome decides to go get something to eat. Promises he'll be right back. I'm great. A little sleepy.

A few minutes later my night nurse comes in (Pat) and says "let's check you". I told her I was ready to take a little nap after she checked. I had been through the hell of transition with both other kids and figured there was no way I was close. Epidural or no epidural. She announces "you're at 10 and the baby is right there! Let's get your Dr. here" Wow! What, no nap? Where was the break through pain of transition? Seriously this was a snap. I still wanted a nap.

Handsome comes back in about then and I announce the good news. He's eating an ice cream, and hurries to finish. I ask the nurse if the meds will be turned down so I can feel to push "nope, you just bear down like you were using the bathroom". But she kindly let me do a trial push to be sure I could manage. Seriously I couldn't feel anything.

I gave one solid push for her and she said "whoa! You're good!"

A few minutes later the fabulous Dr. J shows up. He's mostly suited already, but finishes and hunkers down in front of me. I'm impressed that with the (what looks like) 100 pieces of equipment in front of him that he can tell that "we're missing a pair of scissors." They hand him a suitable replacement. Good job!

It's still very calm and quiet, but exciting. Iris will be here any time now!

The hospital staff are watching my contractions on the monitor and tell me when to push. I'm supposed to push hard for 10 seconds. The trouble is, by the time the count to 4 I need another breath. "Hold it!" the nurse tells me. Yeah right.

3 pushes and the baby's head is out. She guides my hand down to touch her head. Her head! I'd never experienced that before. She's got dark hair!

Then Dr. J tells me "I'll get her out the rest of the way." I'm surprised. "Really? You don't want a little push?" "Nope" he says "just relax and she'll be out in a second." So, I just look down and watch. A minute later she pops out into his arms and starts hollering.

We had told the nurses that she seemed a very mellow baby in utero and wasn't easily perturbed. The nurses actually said "ok, she may not cry very much then, lets look out for that." Boy we're we wrong, and I'm glad of it. She had some big, powerful lungs and used them.

They handed her to me wrapped in a towel and I got to see her pretty face. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a tiny little mouth. I had been worried about her hands for some reason, and they were there and working fine. She was still covered in vernix and terribly waxy looking. Handsome said later "she was so waxy, she looked like a candle." They took her away to be weighed and wiped down.

"She's a Vegas baby!" the nurse announced "7 lbs, 11 ounces!" And 3 weeks early. Good job Iris!

She was perfect, and so so pretty.

I don't remember who got to hold her next. Dad took lots of pictures and I just kept thinking that I wanted him to hold her. He had such a bad time of it in his first marriage, and didn't get what he should have as a new dad with his first daughter. I wanted this to be different. I think it was.

Our experience with Iris continued to be peaceful and calm. The moment she was given back to me or handsome, she quieted immediately. She spent very little time upset, and still doesn't 2 weeks later.

I'd do it again in a minute.

I Will Make Things

I've decided that I will not buy myself new clothes for a year.

NEW clothes. I don't need them. I have lots. It will also help me to get back into my pre-pregnancy clothes.

Here's the caveat. I can buy myself a piece or three from a thrift store, when the said thrift store is having a sale. Or from a yard sale. ALSO, I can make things for myself from my existing fabric stash and I can upcycle stuff I already have (or the very limited thrift store items).

This is making my brain work overtime. Think about all the cool stuff I can do! I can make headbands from old t-shirts. Or make Iris cute little ruffle bum pants. Lots of nifty ideas out there. I'm excited to start.

But first, I have to spend lots of time being a good mom to the beautiful new little one.

I made her too.

What Next?

My extremely hospitable mother whisked back to Arizona this morning, taking the kiddos with her. It will give them a chance for some fun (swimming every day!) and some time for her to hang out with them.

For a few summers as a kid I would go to visit my grandma for a week. It was exciting to be on private vacation, even if all we did was walk the mall and eat Chef Boy-ar-dee. I hope my little ones enjoy their time too.

The kids got packed into Grammy's car, and handsome and I stood outside and waved, waved, waved as they got settled and then disappeared down the road.

While we could still see them, and were waving like mad, I carefully broached the subject...

"So, when do we go to a movie?"

Probably tonight!

Now watch, the baby will want to make her grand appearance during an action flick.

And an update...

Thursday night was awful.

I got an OK from my OB to up the procardia to a higher dosage, and more often. Great. I did this 3 times.

The third time was at 2:30 am on Friday morning. I took pills, had lots of water, got back into bed. 30 minutes later I was so dizzy, I was spinning. It took another 30 minutes for me to be able to get up out of bed and into the living room where my blood pressure cuff was.

Oddly, my BP was fine, but my heart rate was pretty elevated and I felt horrible. Also, remember those contractions? They were back, steady, every 10 minutes. Sometimes 8. Sometimes 6.

I ate something and managed to get back to sleep at 4:45. At 5:45 my handsome husband came looking for me (I couldn't get off the couch) and we talked about options. We carefully decided to call the doctor, and my mom, 6 hours away in Arizona.

Doctor says "GO IN!" Mom says "I'm coming!" and I rest a bit more. We call a friend who will come over and wait with the kiddos until my mom arrives, probably around 2 pm.

Things slow down. I don't take any more procardia. Still, the contractions become erratic. Steady for over an hour, then nothing for 45 minutes. This is SO frustrating.

We're still at home (and undecided) when mom arrives at 2.

We leave at 3 for a walk around the bookstore (which kicks the contractions up big time!) and a frozen custard (which keeps them holding steady) and at 5 hit the hospital. Again.

My nurse has a bedside manner of negative 3. She also (not to be too graphic here) has a finger that feels like it's about 1 inch long, and sharpened. I've never had such horrible "checks" in my existence.

Nurse: "Who said you were at a 7?"
Me: Dr. J, two days ago.
Nurse: Nah, you're at a 6.

I really don't feel like arguing with her, but I want to holler "Are you freaking kidding me!? And who are you exactly, Ms. pointy nubby fingers?!" But I go with it and she hooks me up.

The contractions go nuts. Not huge, but right on top of each other.

I explain to Ms. Pointy-Nubby that Dr. J said to come in, and that Dr. B (my Perinatologist) tried to get me in on Thursday to have the baby. She was having none of it.

Nurse: "we'll see how you do"

2 hours I have layered contractions. I read a People magazine (I don't care about the Kardashians, but am surprised to find that they're Armenian. Interesting!). My husband is kind. My mom is here. I'm pretty sure things are speeding up.

Nurse: "The Dr. on call says to send you home."

I completely lose it.

My husband, kind soul that he is, comes to my rescue and becomes my advocate.

Husband: "Ok, when are we supposed to come back?"
Nurse: "when the contractions are 10 minutes apart"
H: They've been 10 minutes apart for days.

Discussion ensues about my dilation, the distance we are from home, the fact that both other Dr's wanted me to come in, who makes that final decision to have me stay, etc.

In the end, the nurse can't tell us what to do. She says "wait until it gets really bad". We explain "it's gotten REALLY BAD a number of times, and we've put it off until we felt like we really needed to show up." So she says "I don't know what else to tell you."

It's not that I want the baby out NOW. She keeps acting like I'm there because I'm tired of being pregnant. That's not it at all. She explains that if I have the baby at 36 weeks instead of 37, then the NICU has to be in the room to whisk the baby off. I keep telling her "I WANT to go to term. I want what's best for my daughter, but we keep getting mixed messages and no one will give us a straight answer. " I even get fiscal. "There is no reason that I want to have this baby now just so that I can pay someone else a whole lot of money to keep her in a room that I'm not in. I don't' want to stay here for days and pay for a bed when I can stay in bed at home. I am NOT here to force the issue, I just want to know when to come back."

Yeah, she has no idea.

We go home, and are still home.

At least I got some custard out of the deal.

Another reason why I love my husband

Me: My brother dated this really weird girl for a while.

Handsome husband: Weird?

M: Stalker weird.

HH: ???

M: He kept breaking up with her, but she would just SHOW UP in his bedroom and wait, for HOURS for him to come home.

HH: Ok, that's weird.

M: No, it gets worse. He would ignore her, and go to sleep. Hours later she would STILL be there.

HH: Seriously?

M: really.

HH: Let me get this straight. She would stalk him, in his bedroom, silent, and not leave.

M: Right.

HH: How does this sound like Twilight?

M: What?

HH: EDWARD!!!

And then it was 7.

36 weeks tomorrow. THIRTY SIX WEEKS!!!

Saw fabulous Dr. J today who said "let's try for one more week, but if you can't make it that long, then I'll see you at the hospital."

If I make it, considering that I've dilated to a 7 now. Who does this? Walks around with a gaping hole in their body and doesn't end up having the baby at home? Seriously, I'm getting off this computer now and looking up "emergency home delivery".

I suppose there are two problems with that. First, I have to look it up on the computer (duh) and if I look up "emergency home delivery" I might get a pizza joint.

I just looked it up. Ok, the first thing that popped up wasn't pizza, it was "medical alert".

So, 7. A good friend of mine (who has her babies at home) came over last week and said "when I get to a 7, my water breaks and I have the baby 20 minutes later." That was in no way comforting.

Oh, and did I mention? The car with the air conditioning is in the shop. It's getting a new water pump. We can still get to the hospital, but we'd have to take the no-air truck. It's over 100 out there and a 15 minute drive. Not to mention that I don't really want to have the baby in the truck.

Oh, now I'm complaining. Sorry.

The tough part is, I want to wait another week (I carry my procardia around like it was The Ring or something... whispering to it "my precious") but I've had steady contractions for 3 hours now. I want my new beautiful daughter to come into the world as healthy as possible.

Bake baby, bake.

My handsome husband likes to proudly state that "if we were pioneers, we'd do just fine." And I believe him. He's a hard worker, patient, optimistic. However, if we were pioneers, we wouldn't have this baby. She would have shown up weeks ago, with no NICU to go to, and we'd just be sad. Even with all of the wonderful modern technology and medicine around, there can still be problems. I'm going to do whatever I can to make it easier for her to come into the world.

Guess I better go lie back down.

Happy Birthday President Obama

I saw this on someone's Facebook status today.

At my house we're a divided nation... one republican and one Democrat. I actually got a call from one of the political parties the other day asking who we were voting for. I laughed and said "we cancel each other out."

We have a very good friend who comes and shares Sunday dinner with us each week. He's on an unabashed hunt for a wife, wants a pretty conservative/traditional woman, and he's a die-hard democrat.

While complaining one evening about the absurd things he has heard from his republican friends about President Obama he lamented "I just don't know what they have against Obama!"

My handsome husband replied: "Well, his political party to start."

The end.

Still at a 6!

So, for the first time in 7 weeks, I'm still at the same dilation stage (is that even a phrase?) that I was last week. My OB is so proud.

I'd like to thank Orson Scott Card for helping me through this last week, since I've read 1.5 of his books in the past few days. These are not short books.

I'd like to thank my handsome husband for getting me Taco Bell about 9 times.

I'd like to thank my kiddos for being so patient with me.

So, 35 weeks tomorrow and a huge bottle of procardia to help keep the contractions at bay. Now just watch, I'll go to 41 weeks. Pfft.

BTW, I attend the same church building as Brandon Flowers, the lead singer of the Killers. His wife (Tana I think) is very nice and we've spoken a few times about young kids and the Nursery (shudder!). She was at my OB today, and signed in just before me. I knew my OB was the coolest, but I didn't know that rock stars wives went to him too! Kinda fun.