As most of you know, Kit was one week overdue. We won't talk much of that other than I was probably a beast to live with (sorry again Andrew, Arlie, and Andi).
So moving on to good stuff. I had been having some strong Braxton-Hicks contractions in the weeks leading up to her birth but in the days leading up they started getting painful. And tricky. They'd be regular for a little bit, then go away completely. One day we were even packed up for the hospital and then realized that it really wasn't time yet. Boo. So when I woke up early on February 2nd with contractions it didn't really mean anything. They still weren't regular but after a few more I just knew I needed to go to the hospital. I don't know what was different and I believed I would probably get turned away, but I woke Andrew up and told him to get the girls ready. I texted my mom to meet us at the hospital, feeling very guilty for waking everyone up for what was probably a false alarm.
And then the contractions started getting pretty intense. I could hear Andrew downstairs brushing his teeth and so help me, I became insane. I was on all fours on the stairs trying not to scream, wanting to go to the as quickly as possible hospital so I can BEG them to get this child out of me, and he's thinking about HYGIENE?! I wanted to slap the toothbrush out of his hands to convey the seriousness of the situation. Instead, all I could get out was a really whiny, garbled "Pleeeeaaaaase?" Luckily Andrew is fluent in Jenn and hustled us all to the car.
We got everyone buckled in the car and Andrew sped through our neighborhood and I realized it's been 10 minutes since the last contraction. Which stretches into 20. Crap. This WAS a false alarm. An extremely painful false alarm. Just as I'm about to sheepishly tell Andrew to turn around I get another humdinger. Only this one I start shaking. €%#@. I tell myself that I am not going through transition. There's no way I'm that far along, the contractions started only an hour before. Plus, I remember it being like, pass out painful with Andi and I don't think it's as bad? I try to picture the calm, medicated birth that I was planning on. Just get to the hospital. Get there.
Here we are, in the ER in Tacoma at 2 am on a Saturday night. It's . . . interesting. The guy in front of me has fallen out of a car? Got in a fight with a pro boxer? I'm just there with my irregular contractions waiting to get told to go back home and come back when they're 5 minutes apart for at least an hour. La di painful da. The front desk person is having a hard time finding someone to bring me to maternity because they have an incoming trauma. Finally someone comes and she sees me go through one of the shaky contractions and I can see she knows it's transition. But I'm still deep in denial and I insist on walking across the hospital because if I pretend that birth isn't imminent, I'll get my epidural, I'll get a nap, and then wake up and pain-free have a baby. Only now my contractions are regular. 1-2 minutes apart regular. We have to stop a lot on our trek and Andrew knows just what to do. And that's to BE. Stand strong and let me lean as hard as I need to.
We get to the maternity ward and get stopped by a receptionist who wants to explain a new policy regarding children 12 and under not being allowed in. Then she wants me to read a piece of paper stating the same thing. I could only stare at her dully while my brain chanted, "EPIDURAL. EPIDURAL. EPIDURAL. " Awesome.
They finally bring me to a triage room and the nurse does her exam and she turns to me and says with a big smile, "You just walked across the hospital 8 centimeters dilated!" I only can groan so she repeats it to Andrew. Someone must acknowledge this! Now that's out of the way I'm rushed to labor and delivery.
I'm going to skip a little bit here. I'm a little embarrassed of how whiny I got over not having the birth I envisioned. (I had flashbacks of Andi's birth - to date, the most painful thing I've ever experienced.) Plus, this story is already turning into an epic, we can skip the worst part.
So the midwife barely makes it on time. In fact I'm at the point where pushing is pretty much out of my control and she's still rushing around getting things together. She was telling me to puff out my cheeks to stop the process. It did not. The baby was on its way and did not care how much air I could store in my mouth.
After a push or two, the midwife told me to push really hard, the baby's heartbeat was slowing. I didn't really acknowledge it on a conscious level but I pushed. Then she wanted me to stop. I thought the baby was pretty much out so I was confused. Turns out Kit had the umbilical cord wrapped two times around her neck. After she was freed it was one more push and that was it. There was a blur of seeing my sweet girl for the first time and Andrew's happy face telling me he loved me. A very good moment.
And that's it. 2 hours and 15 minutes from beginning to end, 30 minutes in the hospital, and less than 5 minutes of pushing until she was born. Pretty glad I didn't get that epidural, it would have been a total waste of time and potential side effects!
No comments:
Post a Comment