The birth story. Everyone who has had a baby has a story. It either goes something like 'Oh, it was no big deal. He just slipped out!" (cough-certain sister of mine-cough) or it sounds a little something like mine...
Let's review. 39 weeks and 4 days. High blood pressure. Nausea and headache. Doctor sends me to the hospital for blood tests to check for preeclampsia.
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| I took this before going to my doctor's appointment, "just in case." Can you see why I was miserable? |
Ready to continue?
We get to the hospital at about 10:00 AM, and all I had eaten since the night before was applesauce. Of course, the one thing I was most cognizant of was that if I do get induced, I can't eat. Shit. I needed one last gorge before I was in that room. Marc brought me a Coke and goldfish. Not my first choice in last meals, but it didn't matter - the nausea wasn't going to let me eat anyway.
After paperwork and a 15 minute wait (that felt like 15 days), the nurse walked us to the labor and delivery room, handed me a gown and said "Welcome to your home for the next few hours (HA!). Go ahead and get changed and we'll get started." Marc was on the phone closing some things up at work and I sluggishly walked into the bathroom and lost all of my marbles. I cried uncontrollably. I'm not really sure why - perhaps a mix of fear, excitement, pain, anxiety, no more excuse to eat cupcakes? I put the gown on (slowly.) and put myself together and sat on the bed. Blood was drawn and fetal monitors were put on. I was attached to the thingy! This must be real. Then, I start letting the girls know the deal. The smile on my face was more fear than anything else. Marc's was pure happiness (no work for at least a week, right?)
The blood results came back quickly - no preeclampsia (HOORAY!), but I had three choices. Go home and wait to go into labor, (my doctor advised against this), go home and come back at 5 AM the next morning to be induced, or have a sleepover at the hospital to get good and comfy and get induced at 6 AM. I choose to be a squatter. Good thing I did... when the doctor came back in to check me at 1:00, I was 1 cm dilated (I was 0 cm at 9 AM), which meant something may be happening. The nurses start looking at the monitor and ask me if I have felt any contractions yet.
"Nope."
"Really? Because you're having one right now."
"Oh, yea?"
It seems that sometime between my doctor's appointment and that moment, I had started active labor, but I was one of those girls who had no idea. All Jack needed was a little motivation...
We call my Mom and tell her to get here STAT. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall as my Mom got this news. This amazing human being had packed a back a month prior and was carrying it back and forth from home, into work, and back home (can't let medicine and make up melt in the car.) Her friends at work were probably starting to think she had gone mad. But finally!!! She got that call and hopped on a plane. Marc's Mom and Dad began to prepare for their drive up the next morning.
The next few hours were uneventful. Marc went home to take the dogs to the kennel and get all of his chargers (because men never listen when women say "Grab your phone charger in case we go to the hospital.") So, I sat on my bed, ate hospital food and watched Teen Mom for 4 hours. It was a great time. I was feeling my tiny, adorable little contractions and thought that this was a piece of cake. Marc came back, we oogled in excitement for a minute, then I realized I had to pee and was hooked up to a million machines. He unhooked me and I waddled to the bathroom, which was not a quick activity. While I was trying to untangle the mess of cords, I heard the door open and close and cursed at Marc in my mind for leaving the room, I totally wasn't getting out of this bathroom by myself. But, to my surprise, I did, leaving no hands to keep my robe closed in the back (who cares, anyway?) Marc was sitting in the chair and had a dumb smile on his face.
"Why are you smiling?"
"No reason."
"Did you leave and come back?"
"No."
"Why did I hear the door open?"
"Nurses."
"Why are you being so weird?"
"I'm a weird person. You know this."
"Want to see my butt?"
"Not really."
As I turn around in rejection, there was my Mommy, hiding in the corner! (I quickly ran through that last conversation to make sure I didn't say anything terribly inappropriate.) I was SO SO SO excited to see her. I am pretty sure we both cried and jumped and giggled. She took some pictures of me in my gown with my cords in front of the clock. They are so terrifying, I refuse to include them in this post.
The rest of the night was easy. One last meal, then focus on getting rest for tomorrow. At 6:00, the doctor gave me Cervadil to try and soften my cervix since I wasn't making much progress, in hopes that I would be 4-5 centimeters come induction at 6 AM. I was starting to have painful contractions, and got a morphine shot to help me sleep. Since I had sent my Mom home to get a good nights sleep at my house, I called her to tell her how much I loooooooved her. I got pretty ooey gooey. She laughed at me. Then, I kept asking Marc ridiculous questions. He was getting annoyed at my narcotic stupor as he wanted a good nights sleep too. So, I was left to my own entertainment as I knew I wouldn't sleep at all. Somewhere during the night, the Cervadil fell out. Awesome. The doctor came in and said it was fine - I was still only 1 cm, it didn't work anyway. Awesome.
The nurse comes in at 5 AM and tells me to shower as it would be my last one for a while. That was a scary shower. I got back into bed and the nurses started the Pitocin drip. I couldn't eat, and if I had to get up for anything, I had to take the IV with me. I was starving and unhappy. Marc and my Mom went to get lunch, and brought back McDonalds. And ate it in front of me. So wrong on so many levels. They got a kick out of it.
I started getting really bad contractions around 10:00. Marc, being the chart and number kind of guy that he is, loved monitoring the contractions. As annoying as his excitement was, he was great. My Mom was amazing as well, being very comforting as she knows these pains and had some sympathy for me. I tried to push through them so I could experience labor pains, but around 11:00 I had had enough and asked for the epidural. I had moved to 4 cm, which made me very happy. This was the part that I feared the most... but it was nothing at all. The IV hurt more than the epidural. I was so ready for it to start working...
Once it did, life was GRAND. We got a kick out of looking at the monitor and saying "Oh, I'm having a contraction? No big deal!" "What's up? Oh, nothing, just having a contraction. Ha, ha, ha." We all decided this would be a good time for me to take a nap to recover from no sleep last night and what was about to happen. I slept for a good 3 hours, it was the most glorious nap I've ever taken. When I woke up, I was 9 cm. My doctor was amazed at how quickly I was going and felt that this was going to go as planned.
Unfortunately, it didn't. I stayed at 9 cm for about 4 hours. Every hour, she would come back to check me in hopes that I was at 10, but never was. She'd say "Let's give it another hour." and I wanted to punch her in the face. (Not really, but really.) By 6:00, I was in a lot of pain. I had gone through 3 epidurals, was having some serious cramping that wasn't covered by the epidural and was exhausted. I had been in labor for 29 hours and running on a 3 hour nap. I didn't think I was going to make it. My doctor talked to Marc and I about the option to have a cesarean section. She didn't think I was going to get to 10 cm, and his head was stuck in my cervix. Plus, she was estimating that he was almost 9 pounds and didn't think I would be able to push him out. We quickly agreed that a c-section would be the best thing. From the moment we made that decision, my world quickly became filled with numerous doctors and lots of scary.
4 nurses and the anesthesiologist came in to prep me. They noticed that my pulse was very low and I was running a 102 fever. My doctor kept pushing for them to prep me quicker as I needed to get to the OR immediately. I should have been scared by this, but I was too busy being preoccupied by the anesthesiologist pricking me with a pin and asking if I could feel it. Yes, I could on my left side, stop. So, he was a bit panicked as to why that was. The epidural has this funny side effect of making you shake uncontrollably... and holy - it was terrible. I felt like I was naked in sub zero weather and was shivering and thought I was going to shake right off the bed. Marc, during this time, was quite tickled with his get up.
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| I'm glad he was enjoying himself. |
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They wheeled me into the OR and had Marc sit outside while they prepped me. I can't accurately describe how I felt. I was confused, scared, excited, nervous, and couldn't stop freaking shaking. The anesthesiologist nurse had to hold down my arms - I felt like I was either being crucified or prepped for lethal injection. But I heard the nurse say something that would give me the worst fear and terror I've ever felt.
"Dr. Marshall, I can't find the fetal heartbeat."
"We've been monitoring it all day, it's low. Keep looking."
"No, I have looked everywhere. I found Mom's, but absolutely cannot find the fetal heartbeat."
After the doctor checks herself...
"Everyone stop what you're doing. I need to go in immediately. Someone go get Dad right now."
Marc came in, not knowing the conversation I had just heard. I looked at him in despair and didn't tell him how I was feeling. He could see that I was shaking and heard my racing heartbeat. As she ripped me open, a huge splash of blood splattered on the blue curtain separating my face and the rest of me. It felt like a scene from Dexter. I wanted this to be over.
Within 30 seconds, I heard her say "Lindsay, you're going to feel some pressure." The feeling I was about to feel was one I will never forget. As she lifted big Jack B out, there was an enormous weight lifted off my lungs (8 pounds, 11 ounces to be exact). I took a HUGE breath - it felt incredible. I can't really remember what happened after that. I vaguely remember Marc walking over to the nurse who was cleaning the baby and I kept asking him "Does he have hair?" (Who the hell asks that before "is he okay?") I must have known he was okay because I know Marc was smiling. But I was pissed because Marc was ignoring me (shocking!). But the rest is a blur. But I do have this picture to remind me that whatever transpired right there was a beautiful moment.
Little (big) Jack Michael Bacon was born on October 2 at 6:46 in the evening. He weighed 8 pounds, 11 ounces and was 21.5 inches long. He was healthy, and beautiful. He did have to go to the transition nursery due to a little grunting he was doing, but all c-section babies experience that as they don't expel fluids during the last push out.
While they stitched me back together, Marc went up to the transition nursery with Jack. I had hoped that once I got put back together, we would all have a glorious reunion in the recovery room. Unfortunately, that wouldn't happen. I felt pretty fuzzy as they wheeled me (and my placenta in a bucket) to recovery, but I figured that had something to do with the 31 hours of labor I just experienced. But, my fever had risen to 103.5. They would not release me from recovery until it went down to 100. I sat there by myself for almost 4 hours. Marc was the only person allowed back there with me, but I insisted that he was with the baby. He did bring my phone down to me so I could call my Mom and let our parents know that I was fine. Marc also brought down a picture of he and Jack and told me all about how he got to feed him and hold him. I fought back my tears so I didn't ruin that exciting moment for Marc, but I was so incredibly jealous that I wasn't able to be with Jack. But, I did my best to stay positive and hope my fever let up soon. I kept looking at the picture and couldn't wait for the moment I got to meet my Jack.
FINALLY, around midnight, they released me. They wheeled me to my postpartum room and gave me lots of yummy pain meds. I was feeling surprisingly well, just terribly exhausted. My epidural was wearing off so I could move my legs and felt slightly normal. Everyone came into my room, except Jack. He was having a few last tests done before being released to me. We sent Marc to the nursery so Jack and I could meet on FaceTime (again, seriously?) As silly as it was, it was INCREDIBLE. I bawled and it made it even harder to wait to meet him in person.
Our parents left so we could get some rest... and Marc finally brought Jack to our room and I got to hold my son for the first time at 1:30 AM. I was so tired, so exhausted, but could not stop staring at his beautiful face. He was fast asleep and just ate, so no need to nurse. Taking the advice of many Moms before me, I decided to let him sleep in the nursery the first night so Marc and I could get some sleep. It was very hard to let Marc take him. I didn't want to let him go.
I had to spend 5 days in the hospital due to my fever and the many rounds of 3 antibiotics they had to give me. It was a very long 5 days, and Marc and I were very antsy to get home. Our parents were here and so helpful. My Dad met Jack via FaceTime and told me he was going to be flying up in a few days, which of course made me cry hysterically. Marc was able to go home and spend some time with the dogs and I got to catch up on my sleep...but we were ready to get home come Sunday.
Here are a few of some of my favorite pictures from our stay in the hospital:
One last note...
During my stay at the hospital, I didn't feel sad about the way things happened. But as time passed and I had more time to soak everything in (and discover a nasty bladder infection caused by E.Coli from the catheter...) I felt that I had been cheated out of the birth experience. In a slightly selfish way, I felt:
- sad that I didn't get to 'push'
- robbed of the opportunity to have skin to skin contact with my baby and nursing immediately after birth
- angry that I spent 5 days in the hospital and Marc wouldn't have any days off by the time we got home
- bloated. Really, really bloated.
Also, due to all the antibiotics pumping through me for a solid two weeks, I couldn't eat and it severely affected my milk supply. I visited a lactation consultant to get some help once I felt better, but it didn't get easier. I had this overriding sense of guilt for not nursing, but many good people told me to get over the guilt and do what needs to be done for Jack to be healthy.
After dwelling on all of this for about 6 weeks, I finally let go of my sadness/anger. What happened was for the best for both me and Jack, and today (two months later) we are happier than every and found ways to bond elsewhere. I love Jack more than anything in the world and am happy that he is here and healthy, no matter how he got here.
