Seeing as my child is almost three weeks old, I suppose it's time to start spilling the beans regarding how she got here, right?
To prepare for just this occasion, I took careful notes in the hospital. You think I'm kidding? Don’t make me scan in my scratch paper.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2007
Luke and I were up by six o'clock to get ready for our 7:30 induction. After a rough night obsessing over the fact that the manner in which we were collecting our baby could be compared to somebody ordering a value meal from McDonald's—each incident a painful experience in its own right—I had finally reached a place where I was at peace with the whole situation and excited knowing that by the end of the day, I'd be holding my daughter in my arms. Hell, with such an early induction time, I was counting on having her by lunch.
We took our showers, gulped down bowls of cereal, double checked our bags, and before we knew it, we were off.
7:50 a.m.
After registering at the front desk, the two of us were escorted to a private room in the labor and delivery unit, where I would remain until after the baby was born. We were introduced to Bertha, the first of three nurses I'd be assigned to that day. I was handed a set of gowns and told to undress. With the exception of my bra, I wouldn't don actual clothes again until my discharge Thursday night.
Once I'd gotten good and nekkid, I made myself comfortable in bed while Bertha fired off a series of questions regarding my health and the progression of my pregnancy. She asked about my preferences regarding pain relief and I replied that I'd probably want an epidural.
Then she asked about my last meal, and I told her about the bowl of Cheerios I'd eaten a couple of hours before.
"Did your doctor give you permission to eat that?" she asked.
"She didn't say I couldn't," I replied, which was true, but it didn't matter anyway, because hell no was I going to starve myself before jumping into the most physical challenge of my life. I'd talked to plenty of nurses to know there's no real benefit in a woman refraining from food or drink during labor, so self-restricting beforehand didn't make sense to me.
I refrained from sharing these deep insights with Bertha (who really was a lovely person and a great support in the hours ahead) and simply smiled.
8:50 a.m.
Bertha gave me my first cervical check of the day and pronounced me five centimeters dilated and eighty percent effaced—no real change since my last doctor's appointment the previous Friday. She told me her instructions were to start me on 2ccs of Pitocin and increase the dosage in increments of two until my contractions were consistently two to three minutes apart. Once the IV was in place, monitors were attached to my belly to measure the baby's heartbeat and the pattern of my contractions, the drip was started, and Luke and I were left alone to take everything in.
At this point, I wasn't sure what to think. I'd taken classes, done my reading, and overall prepared myself to give birth as naturally as I felt comfortable. With continuous monitoring and drug administering, ninety percent of the laboring positions Luke and I had practiced were no longer feasible. The suite did have a rocking chair, which I was encouraged to use, and it was perfectly fine for me to walk around the room, but I felt most at ease just sitting in bed, watching my contractions dance about on the monitor, hammering out last-minute name ideas with Luke, and waiting for the arrival of my sister Samantha and good friend Molly, each of them warning me not to push the baby out before they got there.
To be continued...
-------
Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2008 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.
Comments