I got to the hospital and let the nurse know that the nice Woman Doc had told me I could go IV-free as long as it wasn't medically necessary, which she said was fine - and that happened to be who was on call, which I was thankful for.
Three hours later, Evil Man Doc B rotated on, and I knew I was doomed. Without ever even coming to see me, he ordered pitocin. I got no say in whether I wanted my labor to be augmented, and in my years of reading way too many childbirth books (including textbooks), I've never found any medical reason for his orders. At 3 hours, I'd made it up to a full centimeter - which is on the slow side, but not horribly so. My labor was complicated from the start because of the fact that my water broke but Aaric was no where near the exit. This did put him at risk for cord prolapse - the cord dropping down lower than his head, and then his head moving downward and cutting off the supply of blood - which is of course the oxygen supply. All this meant though, was that getting up and walking around to try to encourage contractions and move his head down was not an option. I requested to be moved to a better room, as long as I was going into a more awful labor than I'd imagined. Just the fact that needles were being introduced was enough for me to feel I deserved the room with the nice bed with a lumbar pillow like we'd been shown in the tour - and I got it. Again - the me of today would speak up about him "ordering" the pitocin, and would decline it unless they could show me that it was medically necessary (and as I was in no pain at this point, I was thinking clearly enough to have done so). But the me of 2000 figured if the doctor ordered it, I had to do it, and felt defeated, clinging only to the promise of a better room.
In that better room, it took my lovely nurse three tries to get the IV in.
From the time she put the IV in to the time when I started pushing, its all a big long blur. It was hour after hour after hour (multiply that a few more times) of contractions, all of which were transition level - which if you don't know what that means, "mega contractions that last for longer than the break between them does, and frequently have multiple peaks which make you think you're surely going to die soon" about sums it up. I'd requested stadol, as long as I was getting an IV anyway. No one had been decent enough to tell me that stadol does nothing for you, physically. Its not that I don't remember - its just that it was very painful monotony. Other than the pain, the worst part was how my brain was functioning - or not functioning. I was 100% coherant the entire time. I was thinking very complex things, and sometimes very trivial things. I certainly wasn't spending the entire day thinking about how much it hurt. A friend dropped by to say hello and I wondered what the new shirt she was wearing was made of. I wanted to know, I wanted to feel it SO bad. I was very curious about that shirt. But I couldn't get the thoughts to go from my brain to anywhere else in my body. They were stuck there bouncing around in my head. I could manage to say only the words necessary for survival. Usually those words were "more ice" because my little cup of ice chips was empty. One time though, I found other words. My mother in law had nice, cold hands. I was very hot, and therefore the room was freezing. Therefore, Michael was wrapped up in a huge thick hospital blanket to stay toasty. My mother in law was rubbing my back, and when I say back, understand that I mean, imagine the lowest point that you would possibly consider "back" and not "butt cheek" and then move an inch or so downward from there. That's where she rubbed, because the counter-pressure is nice there. She had the nerve to step away for a minute, and well-meaning Michael stepped in to take over, just as one of those lovely contractions got underway. By the way it felt, I would not have been suprised to have had second degree burns. I yelled out "HOT HANDS!!!" a couple times. I think that at one point I did clarify that his hands were too hot and to please back away from the hot laboring woman. He says I was mean to him - I say it was self-preservation. A moment longer and I would have surely burst into flame. That's one of our most memorable moments of our son's birth. Everyone has a good yelling in labor story, right?
The next memorable event is that the doctor swooped in for one of his how-ever-often checks, and was not impressed. Apparently, Aaric was still refusing to move downward at all. Dr Evil said that he really didn't think I'd be able to deliver him. My nurse redeemed herself for the IV Scandal by requesting that he allow me to start pushing early. I was 8 cm at this point. Now, in a normal birth, pushing at 8 cm is bad - you can rip your cervix that way. But since my child was no where near my cervix anyway, this wasn't an issue. I needed to push him down TO that level. And that is why I started pushing at 8 cm. I am certain that if it were not for a caring nurse who knew how badly we wanted to avoid a c-section, I would have gotten one.
The next memorable event is one that bothers me. Not because I blame the nurse, or anyone for that matter, just because I know better now. Aaric was stuck at my tailbone. He'd move upward to go over it as I pushed, but when the contraction ended, he'd slip right back down again. I was lying flat on my back. NOW, I know that if you get upright, you gain about an inch of room in there. No one in the room knew that though - or at least none were willing to take advantage of that little fact. Instead, she called in another nurse to help out. With my nurse monitoring from the lower half of my body, and another nurse pushing on my abdomen/Aaric's butt, he finally made it over the tailbone. I really wish I'd gotten some x-rays, I'm sure I broke a rib during that whole deal. In any case, it was a group effort to get him past the tailbone. Thats when she called the doctor to let him know we'd be needing him soon.
Dr Evil came in with me still needing to push for a while longer, something which I could tell he wasn't pleased about. During that time, the entire room lied to me. I'd been watching that little box that was connected to the fetal monitor for nearly 15 hours. It had all be explained to me, and I knew which number meant what. And I knew that the 34 that I saw was Aaric's heartrate. Looking back, I'm suprised they didn't wheel me out of the room to the OR right there. But instead, I freaked a bit and everyone assured me that he was fine and that I didn't know what all those numbers on there meant, anyway. Please - there were only 2 sets of numbers!
Once Dr Evil was ready for dinner, he asked if I'd like some help. I would give him the benefit of the doubt, but this IS Mr No People Skills himself here. I don't believe it was medically necessary, because he DID actually offer and we know by now that giving me an option wasn't his strong point. Anyway, I asked if he meant an episiotomy (for the non-childbirth educated, that's a cut in places where scalpels do not belong). He actually laughed, and said I wasn't getting out of this without getting cut. See, such a delightlful man. So I asked what he did mean. He meant forceps. By this staage, I was exhausted. I'd been laboring for 15 hours, I'd been pushing for 2.5 of those. I had most likely broken ribs, and potential 2nd degree burns. I was also highly annoyed with Dr Evil. Ready to just get it over with, I told him to go ahead and use the forceps. Then after a couple of shots where needles don't belong, a cut where scalpels don't belong, and a huge metal tongs going in where tongs don't belong, and a couple minutes later, Aaric was finally evicted from the place where he no longer belonged.
The nurses were all exclaiming over his size, calling out guesses on his size. I thought they were surely insane. The guesses ranged from 8-10 lbs. I was planning for a small 7. If they thought I'd actually grown a child larger than 8 lbs, they were probably on crack. Then I caught a glimpse of his thigh. OH it was big. He was over at the warming table and he was big. And he was a carbon copy of Michael, except that instead of shoulder length wavy hair, he had inch long hair that stuck straight up/out all over, and his head was much much pointier and covered in scratches and bruises. He was 9 lbs, 2 oz, 21 inches long, and had a 15 inch head. That's after all the squishing! Let me just tell you - probably a year later, I got out my old math tools and drew a circle with a 15 inch circumfrence. Then I got out a ruler and measured the diameter in centimeters. Now, remember that the cervix/exit to the world dilates to around 10 cm. My dear friends, a 15 inch circle has a diameter of 12 cm. This still makes me cringe today.
Then my entire family, including my husband, but not including my new son who wasn't yet up for social events, went out to dinner. I could have resented that, but really, the peace and quiet was nice. After a little observation in the nursery, they brought him to me and I tried to get the child to nurse. After many many tries, he looked at me and rolled his eyes. No kidding. And it looked just like a mini, fat, bruised up conehead Michael rolling his eyes at me. I think he was thinking, "you crazy woman. I weigh 9 lbs 2 oz. I've got fat stores to last me decades here. I need no food!" I bet he had a bit of a headache too. I know I would!
Looking back, there are some things with anger me: the attitude of my OB, the fact that it didn't occur to the nurses to try to utilize gravity in getting him over my tailbone, the 15 hrs of hellish labor... (granted, I don't blame the nurse - she can't help that she didn't know other options)
But there are a few things I'm very very grateful for.
1. My intense fear of needles. I had no choice about the IV, and I had no choice about the pudendal block (the one before the episiotomy, numbs you up). What I could have chosen - what most women in that situation DO choose - was an epidural. During those 2.5 hours of pushing, I pushed hard. I never felt the physiological urge to push - my urge was based on the fact that I knew if I didn't, I'd be in the OR soon. I had no choice but to push with all of my might. I seriously doubt that I would have had enough control over my pushing to have done it, if I'd had an epidural.
2. My fabulous nurse. She didn't know every trick in the book - but she used all of the ones that she did know to help me out, and she is the one who talked the doctor into not operating. Had it not been for her, I know I would have had a c-section. C sections aren't all bad, they are sometimes necessary, but I wanted to avoid it.
3. A full support team, including my mom, my husband, and my mother in law. They all helped in different ways - Michael not so much with the back massage though. Mom hung out for a few days to make sure we got settled in at home okay. And my mother in law had the wonderfully cold hands.
So there you have it. How Aaric got here. Its long, and probably boring. But I wanted it here, because its the foundation for a lot of what I am today. Not just the "becoming a mother" hallmark stuff. Stuff we'll get into later.
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