Monday, March 02, 2009

Birth Story, Part 1

Okay, I REALLY am horrible at this blog thing. But I'll try to come to my happy conclusion with this post. I guess Stick-It, now known to the world as DS#3, will have to get used to having things done long after the fact.

Okay, I don’t have my glasses or contacts. We manage to get my DF, who is en route, on the phone. He reverses direction, goes to my house, grabs my glasses, contacts, CAMERAS (yeah Dad!) and half-packed bag (yes, I know, Mom, thanks for being such a nudge!), and brings all with him. DF arrives, different people are buzzing in and out of my room, and I keep watching the clock. I’m signing papers and don’t even know what I’m signing at this point. New baby classes? No thanks. Breastfeeding class? No thanks again, I remember how to do that. I’m thanking my lucky stars I didn’t have to throw a tantrum – when doing the NSTs and OB visits and every other medical situation with this pregnancy, I made it clear that I would not walk into L&D 4. The room that I delivered my stillborn son, Jimmy, in, where I held him and said “goodbye” before I could say “hello”. Bad enough that I had NSTs in the same room where Dr. Grandpa told me Jimmy’s heart had stopped. I would not have tolerated L&D 4, Dr. A-Hole being on for the delivery and not Dr. Fav, or both. So, I try to focus on the fact that neither of these things is occurring. But there’s still no Dr. Fav. I want to see this man. I want to have him tell me what is going on. I don’t know these midwives, and since they’re not doing the surgery, thanks but you’re not Dr. Fav so I don’t really want to listen to you. I just want this baby out of me because I'm getting the feeling that it isn’t safe in there anymore.

Dr. Fav finally shows, smiling, providing answers. He explains that the baby is fine but the lack of growth is a concern. With Stick-It being as far along as he is and having scheduled a c-section for the following Friday, he would prefer to deliver Stick-It now. His only concern with a 36 week, 6 day old baby is the maturity of the lungs. He reassures me that a neonatologist is on hand for the delivery. He does not think that Stick-It will need the services of the hospital's Level 2 NICU, but it is there if needed. I’m praying at this point that he’s right. DM points out my cough, which is bronchitis and for which I was supposed to begin antibiotics today. He tells her that part of the meds I’m getting will be an antibiotic, so that won’t be a problem.

Dr. Fav leaves and my parents step out to give me and DH a moment alone. I look at DH and get weepy. We hold hands and I tell him I love him, and to tell DS#1 and DS#2 how much I love them. He starts to tear up and says I can tell them myself. Now I’m getting pissed. I again say “Tell the boys I love them.” He tells me not to talk like that. I love the man, but Je$u$ C^r*(st, could he please just say, “Okay, honey, I’ll tell them, but everything’s going to be fine.” I pointedly tell him that I need him to promise me. He finally does.

We decided the minute the stick turned blue that my DM would be there for the birth. She's been there for all deliveries but the arrival of DS#1 and is great in medical situations; as an OB/GYN nurse for years and the daughter of an OB/GYN, she should be. When we knew Stick-It was breech and would most likely be a c-section, there was little discussion. DH does NOT handle that stuff well – he can’t watch CSI’s opening credits without gagging. And I need someone to be my voice in these situations - who better than my DM?

Then it’s time. The anesthesiologist comes in. Funny guy. Tells me a few jokes, goes over everything. He walks out. DM, who, with DF, is back in the room, tells me he’s a good one. The butterflies pick up. My knees are shaking. Then the nurse, a very nice woman who tells me she’ll be accompanying me to the OR, tells me to get up out of bed so I can walk into the OR. What?!? You have to be wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair but I have to walk down the hall, hauling my IV pole with me with one hand while my other hand desperately tries to keep the back of this piece of cloth that you amusingly think covers my massive girth closed so my ass isn’t hanging out for all to see? In booties that I’m going to trip over any second? On knees that are threatening to not hold me up? Oh, and the best part – here come two firemen down the hall. They’re doing the fire safety inspection or something like that. How do I know? Because the nurse mentions it as we walk out in front of them. I hear my name being called, loudly. By one of them. Because I KNOW them! Both! They were students at our school, in a program in my division. I turn, and the other guy says, “Wow! Good luck!” Yep, hope my ass is still covered…

I walk into the OR with the nice nurse helping me maneuver the IV pole. I am directed to walk around the table, which I’m then helped onto. The nice nurse helps me lean forward as the anesthesiologist starts drawing on my back and washing it with very, very cold stuff. Then I hear someone say, "Well, look at you. Change of plans today, huh?" It’s one of my favorite nurses, the L&D nurse who advised me against aversion, who'd been there for a number of my NSTs, and who would have been there today for my 1:00 NST. “Yep,” is all I can croak out; I’m still on the verge of tears, and trying to remain calm, which is very difficult in a room so cold it could double as a meat locker when you’re being told to lean forward so a nice man can stick a really long needle in your back. DM isn’t here yet. They keep telling me they won’t start without her, but she's not here.

Now more doctors and nurses. I’m lying down. I have an anesthetist, another very nice young woman, at my head with a mask and they’ll all putting different monitoring devices on me. Now the drapes are up and Dr. Fav is asking if I can feel the really cold stuff and I can’t anymore. Or the pinch on my stomach. It's weird. I can feel the tug and pull, but not any other sensation. Finally, just as he starts to cut in, DM is next to my head. She starts to talk to me in one ear, telling me to focus on her. My only job at this point is to breath, which is unique – my other pregnancies were all vaginal deliveries.

Dr. Fav announces that they have … a butt. Exactly that way. “We have a butt.” I feel tugging and pulling, and it takes effort to remove Stick-It. They need lots of pressure. He's finally out and the nurse carries him to the table, the neonatologist bending over him. He’s not crying. He’s limp. I try not to panic, but the tears start because… he looks just like Jimmy. My DM tells me he’s okay. I tell her to go over, to be with him. I start to pray, let him breath, let him breath. I ask Jimmy to help him, to not have our hearts broken again, to be with him. The neonatologist comes over and tells me he’s okay, and we hear a weak cry coming from the table. The cry gets stronger, but he’s little, so much more than either of his big brothers. The neonatologist tells us that he swallowed some amniotic fluid, but she reassures us that he’s fine – his first Apgar was 4 and his second is now 8. DM and I are now crying. They bring him over next to me so I can see him and kiss him. Then they take him out the door, and usher my mother out.