So, today, I am going to have a baby. I know this little girl already though I was certain she would be a boy. She is constantly moving even now. I finally get to see what she looks like. I wonder what color her hair will be. I wonder what kind of mommy I will be...
I slept off and on for most of the day. The slow drip of the IV, the cool temperature in the room, and the lights perfectly dimmed made napping a pleasant experience. Until the epidural stopped working, that is. The pain had gotten so severe, I began trembling uncontrollably. There were audible people noises, but I could not concentrate. Then my Mother's beautiful face came into focus. My sisters appeared with my wide-eyed niece and nephew. The curious, yet serious young faces were a sight to behold! Bless them. Their Christmas morning excitement had been undercut by my 6:00 a.m. telephone call.
The evening was turning to nighttime as the whole dramatic scene began to unfold. The nurses argued about whether it was time. Someone decided it was indeed time. There is nothing fun about pushing a tiny human out of your body. After at least 2 hours of pushing with no progress, the on-call physician arrived and decided that now was actually the time to start pushing. And so, more pushing. I remember looking at the clock to see it was already after 9:00 p.m. The hour made me think of Mary in a cold stable at such a young age experiencing childbirth without her mother. I was beyond grateful I had mine with me. At last, I fell back on the bed and said, "I just can't do it anymore. I just can't." Okay, but only one more time.
Here she comes, moving down the birth canal with extreme pressure only to have the nurse ordering all the pushing to say, "Stop pushing." What? "Stop pushing." What? "The doctor isn't here to catch her. You have to stop pushing." I'm not pushing. She's coming, I'm not pushing. The doctor isn't here? What?
The nurse begins to literally push the baby's head back into the birth canal as she explains a physician must take the baby. Nurses are not covered under the insurance! What? By this time, you can only imagine the behavior of a stressed-out, sleep-deprived, first-time father. Pacing up and down the hall, yelling expletives, demanding a doctor from any floor to take this baby before he did. There is no doctor on any floor who can come. (It is a holiday, remember?) Apparently, my doctor not only left the floor, but she also left the hospital campus to have Christmas dinner. Hhmm...dinner. I have had ice chips for 18 hours. More yelling by an exasperated Daddy, more patting by the anxious grandmother. Oh well, this baby is coming like it or not.
Oh hello, Doctor. How was dinner?
Carlisle Grace, destined ballerina, made her dramatic entrance into this crazy world. She, of course, was whisked away while I was wrapping things up, to put it mildly. She was so beautiful and tiny weighing in at just over 6 lbs. with long skinny legs and freakishly long toes. She is here at last.
I feel like I am sitting in blood. Gross. Nurse, help, please. "Everything is fine, completely normal. We'll be back to check on you." Insert eye roll here.
Everyone else was gone now and I reveled in the moment of finally holding that beautiful child who grew inside me for all those months. My mother-in-law returned with tea sandwiches and champagne. I had not had a drink in 9 months, and it looked more tempting than the food. I nibbled and sipped. Nibbled and sipped.
I feel like I am sitting in blood. Dutifully, mother-in-law updates nurses who nonchalantly repeat their tired mantra. "Everything is fine, completely normal." They just checked me, after all. Another eye roll. Mother-in-law calmly reiterates that she is not an alarmist, that I am not a drama queen, that something must be very wrong.
Gradually, I began to feel weak and extremely tired. This 6 lb. gift was beginning to feel like a 50 lb. weight in my arms. I handed my precious little bundle back to Daddy Dearest. Boy, I know it has been 9 months, but this champagne is really getting to me. Next, comes waves of nausea. I am going to throw up. I am never drinking champagne, again.
I feel like I am sitting in blood.
Aggravated nurse arrives to assess the situation and immediately understands that I am indeed sitting in a large amount of blood, a pool of it in fact. I feel blankets being snatched from under me. I hear...
"Call the doctor STAT. She's going into shock!"
I slept off and on for most of the day. The slow drip of the IV, the cool temperature in the room, and the lights perfectly dimmed made napping a pleasant experience. Until the epidural stopped working, that is. The pain had gotten so severe, I began trembling uncontrollably. There were audible people noises, but I could not concentrate. Then my Mother's beautiful face came into focus. My sisters appeared with my wide-eyed niece and nephew. The curious, yet serious young faces were a sight to behold! Bless them. Their Christmas morning excitement had been undercut by my 6:00 a.m. telephone call.
The evening was turning to nighttime as the whole dramatic scene began to unfold. The nurses argued about whether it was time. Someone decided it was indeed time. There is nothing fun about pushing a tiny human out of your body. After at least 2 hours of pushing with no progress, the on-call physician arrived and decided that now was actually the time to start pushing. And so, more pushing. I remember looking at the clock to see it was already after 9:00 p.m. The hour made me think of Mary in a cold stable at such a young age experiencing childbirth without her mother. I was beyond grateful I had mine with me. At last, I fell back on the bed and said, "I just can't do it anymore. I just can't." Okay, but only one more time.
Here she comes, moving down the birth canal with extreme pressure only to have the nurse ordering all the pushing to say, "Stop pushing." What? "Stop pushing." What? "The doctor isn't here to catch her. You have to stop pushing." I'm not pushing. She's coming, I'm not pushing. The doctor isn't here? What?
The nurse begins to literally push the baby's head back into the birth canal as she explains a physician must take the baby. Nurses are not covered under the insurance! What? By this time, you can only imagine the behavior of a stressed-out, sleep-deprived, first-time father. Pacing up and down the hall, yelling expletives, demanding a doctor from any floor to take this baby before he did. There is no doctor on any floor who can come. (It is a holiday, remember?) Apparently, my doctor not only left the floor, but she also left the hospital campus to have Christmas dinner. Hhmm...dinner. I have had ice chips for 18 hours. More yelling by an exasperated Daddy, more patting by the anxious grandmother. Oh well, this baby is coming like it or not.
Oh hello, Doctor. How was dinner?
Carlisle Grace, destined ballerina, made her dramatic entrance into this crazy world. She, of course, was whisked away while I was wrapping things up, to put it mildly. She was so beautiful and tiny weighing in at just over 6 lbs. with long skinny legs and freakishly long toes. She is here at last.
I feel like I am sitting in blood. Gross. Nurse, help, please. "Everything is fine, completely normal. We'll be back to check on you." Insert eye roll here.
Everyone else was gone now and I reveled in the moment of finally holding that beautiful child who grew inside me for all those months. My mother-in-law returned with tea sandwiches and champagne. I had not had a drink in 9 months, and it looked more tempting than the food. I nibbled and sipped. Nibbled and sipped.
I feel like I am sitting in blood. Dutifully, mother-in-law updates nurses who nonchalantly repeat their tired mantra. "Everything is fine, completely normal." They just checked me, after all. Another eye roll. Mother-in-law calmly reiterates that she is not an alarmist, that I am not a drama queen, that something must be very wrong.
Gradually, I began to feel weak and extremely tired. This 6 lb. gift was beginning to feel like a 50 lb. weight in my arms. I handed my precious little bundle back to Daddy Dearest. Boy, I know it has been 9 months, but this champagne is really getting to me. Next, comes waves of nausea. I am going to throw up. I am never drinking champagne, again.
I feel like I am sitting in blood.
Aggravated nurse arrives to assess the situation and immediately understands that I am indeed sitting in a large amount of blood, a pool of it in fact. I feel blankets being snatched from under me. I hear...
"Call the doctor STAT. She's going into shock!"
(to be continued...)
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