How It All Went Down (Mostly)—Potentially Graphic Content

I know people have been dying to hear the story of Nora's birth and all. I just legitimately haven't had a chance to put it all into text form. In fact, I've barely had a chance to actually sit down and think about how it all happened. It went by so fast. Two Thursday nights ago, I had to go into the hospital for a non-stress test. I actually remember posting about it that day (and I think I even posted a photo of myself from that day). A non-stress test is something that they do to all mothers who are past their due dates. Apparently, overdue mothers are supposed to go in twice a week for these things, and, ideally, they're only supposed to take about 20 minutes. Willis and I went straight to the hospital after work to do the non-stress test. The nurse who hooked me up told me that if all goes well, it should only take 20 minutes. After about an hour and a half of sitting there (and not having a clue as to what we were looking at on the monitor), she finally comes back in to tell us that they're picking up an irregular heart beat on the baby. Soon, they were telling us that they were contacting the OB and my CNM to get their opinions on options for us. Lisa (my CNM) came in to talk to us herself, and she basically was telling us that the irregular heart beat was something to be concerned about since I was overdue (and she said that the OB was quite concerned about it as well).  So, they were strongly urging us at that point to consider induction. Lisa actually ordered an ultrasound for us that night to see if they could figure out why the heart beat was irregular (and to confirm that the heart beat was, indeed, irregular), so we had to wait some more for a technician to come from home and give me the ultrasound. At about 10:30 p.m., we determined that we would go ahead with the induction. The ultrasound had confirmed the heart beat's irregularity, and they couldn't otherwise tell what was causing it (they had been concerned that maybe the placenta was dying or that the cord might be wrapped around her neck). By the way, the ultrasound technician totally told us we were having a girl that night, too. Hah. So much for surprises, eh? So, since we hadn't had dinner at that point (nor had we even been home yet), Willis ran out to get us some food. We ate McDonalds together in the labor/delivery room at about 11 p.m., and then Willis ran home to grab up all the items that we needed for our hospital stay. He also updated all my online status. Sadly, he ended up leaving a crock pot full of chili he had started Thursday morning on the counter, and it totally went bad. We didn't get rid of that until a couple days after we got home. I bet that chili would've been good, too. At midnight, the OB came in my room (I wasn't expecting him to come in until about 4:30 or 5 a.m., and I was expecting to be induced by using a pill called cytotec), and he told me they needed to get the ball rolling. So, he broke my water, and at about 2 a.m. (Willis nearly passed out, and I nearly did, too, once they did that and started trying to install in internal fetal monitor—after their third attempt, I told them to stop it), they started me on a pitocin drip (they had to wait two hours after I had eaten to start it). At that point, Willi and I attempted to sleep a little, and at about 4 a.m., I realized I wasn't going to be able to sleep through contractions anymore. I think Willi only slept for -like- 20 minutes. He had been up since 5:30 Thursday morning. So, the next several hours (and we're talking several) I spent making some progress until about noon. The contractions weren't too horrible yet, and each time they checked me, I was doing progressing. Once noon hit, though, I was stuck at eight centimeters. I was stuck at eight until about 6 p.m. I think. It could have been until 8 p.m., actually. (This is where my memory becomes fuzzy.) I think at about 6 p.m., I started having massive urges to push, and they kept telling me I couldn't push. So, Willis sat there and coached me through each contraction to try to get me to relax and fight the urge to push. It was awful. There was enormous pressure, and I just wanted to push (and a few times I my body pushed even though I was telling it not to). When I did push, it actually felt better, but I had to sit there and just let these intense contractions go by. They told me I had to get up and move around to try to progress, too. Only one position was "comfortable" the whole time, and moving out of that position was killer. I sat on a birth ball for awhile (that actually hurt the most of all the positions I was asked to try). Each contraction was so intense when I was on that ball. I thought I was going to throw up. Actually, I think I did throw up after I sat on the ball for about twenty minutes (goodbye, McDonalds from 11 p.m. last night). I didn't barf on Willis, luckily, and I actually threw up in the toilet (miracle). I would have to go to the bathroom constantly, I remember. Willis and I had a system down for getting me to and from the bathroom. Since I was induced, I was hooked up to all kinds of crap. I had a fetal monitor hooked up to my belly (two wires coming from my belly), and I had an IV (another line hooked up to another machine). I'd stand up to get ready to go the bathroom, Willi'd unhook me from the machines (minus the IV), I'd have a contraction (hanging from Willi's neck for comfort), I'd recover, we'd walk me to the bathroom (Willi walking the IV machine for me), I'd have another contraction (I'd hang on Willis again), I'd go to the bathroom, I'd stand up, I'd have another contraction, and then we'd head back to the bed. I think I actually would have another contraction before getting back into the bed in the only "comfortable" position. I think it was 8 p.m. before Lisa came in to ask me how the urge to push was going. I said, "I don't think I can keep fighting the urge to push," and she told me that I wasn't quite ready yet. However, she did say that she could help me be ready to push by "moving things out of the way" when I start pushing. So . . . that's what we did. I pushed for two hours, and I must say, those two hours seemed like a breeze compared to the time that I was stuck at eight and fighting that urge to push. The baby's heart rate was dropping while I was pushing, and I didn't realize it at the time (because they actually stuck an oxygen mask on my face to add to the freaking tubes and wires coming from my body) but they were totally trying to get me to hurry it up to get her out. I apparently was on my last possible push before the OB was going to step in and grab Nora out with a vacuum extractor. I didn't know that until Sunday morning after she was born (Lisa came in and told us—Willis knew we were close to intervention, but he didn't know HOW close). This is the part where I say, "'ear muffs' for people who are squeamish," by the way. I pushed the girl out so fast, I tore (third degree). So, I had some stitches. Believe it or not, that's actually healing a lot faster than I thought it would. It was rough the first few days, though. Going to the bathroom had never been such a ritual. I'll spare you the details now (I've already said enough). Willis was a stinkin' saint through the whole process. The guy was so tired, and he just sat there, reading through our birthing books between contractions, guzzling the coffee, talking me through each contraction, walking me to and from the bathroom, giving me ice chips (once they stopped letting me drink water at midnight Friday morning), and he never left my side but maybe a couple of times so that he could run to the bathroom himself. Poor guy. If it weren't for him, I'd have most likely ended up having a caesarian. I am not even remotely kidding on that. His coaching me through this was completely critical, and there is no way that it would have gone how it went without him. I didn't get to see Nora right away when she was born. Due to the heart rate and the fact that she apparently passed the meconium (baby's first bowel movement) in utero, they had to whisk her away, clean her out, and get her monitored down at the nursery. Luckily, Lisa yelled at them to let me see her for a moment before they took her away (she was already swaddled and wearing a hat when I got to see her). I wanted to hold her right away, and I wanted to start spending time with her, of course. I wish I could have. When I saw her the first time, I was actually seeing double because I had literally pushed my eyeballs out of my face. It was pretty messed up. Later that night, we finally got to go down to the nursery to see Nora have her first bath (about 1 a.m.—about two and a half hours after she was born). Then, they wheeled her bassinet into our recovery room where we got to spend our first minutes together (about 1:30 a.m.). Those moments were priceless. We were in the hospital until midnight Monday morning. Getting out into that cold winter air and driving home on those empty streets, you would think it'd be depressing. It wasn't. We were bringing home little Nora. Getting home late threw us off, no doubt, but we recovered after a couple of days. We couldn't have asked for an easier baby to care for and love. Here I am now: my first day flying solo as a parent at home. Nora's sitting beside me in a bouncy seat—swaddled in a receiving blanket. She's occasionally making noises and faces. I keep catching myself staring at her—not believing that I actually have a daughter. Things are gonna be different. Oop. She totally just filled up her diaper. Gotta go.