As I approached the dreaded 40 week mark, my attempts to schedule an induction became more desperate. Eventually, the doctors gave in and scheduled one for me. It might have something to do with the fact that not only was I now heavily pregnant but -- wait for it -- I was on crutches. One night while trying to lower my less than gazelle like body onto the couch, I twisted my knee.
Everyone had assumed Anduin would arrive early: my boss who had planned a surprise baby shower for me at work a solid month and a half prior, my husband who had packed hospital bags by the New Year, and my friend M* whose due date was the day after mine.
Just as I was resigned that I would be induced on my due date (Jan 30th), I received a text message from M* who had also scheduled an induction. Her text on Jan 26th told me she was at the hospital in labor and that I needed to tell Anduin to hurry. After all, we were going to deliver at the same hospital. I didn't realize until I read that text that it was actually possible to be VERY envious of another woman experiencing massive amounts of pain and discomfort because at the very least, her baby would escape.
I started to experience contractions later that night, but Anduin, darling prankster that she was, had already sent me to the hospital for bouts of false labor. I figured that this time, if the contractions were strong enough to wake me up from a sound sleep, I'd actually make the trip to the hospital.
At 3 am, January 27th, they were. This time, however, we were much better prepared. I had downloaded a contractions counter app to my Kindle Fire. Our bags were packed. My husband ignored any urges to suddenly clean the house. We had received permission from Tricare to deliver at a civilian hospital five minutes from our house. (Funny what happens when you tell them you had a baby in the bathroom... Suddenly, a referral to a civilian doctor was so much easier!) We basically moseyed down to the hospital with me being in significantly more discomfort than I had been during my first delivery.
I was checked into a hospital room right away -- having felt me dilate to 5 cm -- and prepared for the long night ahead of us.
And then it happened... The anesthesiologist came to give me my epidural. It was now almost 6 in the morning. The anesthesiologist was exactly the type of doctor you hope to receive: just enough white hair to exude experience and wisdom but spry enough to make you not wonder whether his hands would shake while inserting a wickedly long needle into your spinal cord. By this point, I wasn't exactly Bridezilla mean. Niles would tell you that I wasn't exactly pleasant either. We had a student nurse whose excitement/wonder at my impending delivery more than made up for my lack of enthusiasm, but I couldn't manage more than monosyllabic answers to her questions. After I had the epidural, it literally felt as if the clouds had opened and angels sang down from the heavens. I probably said to Niles no less than twenty times as he tried to find a remotely comfortable position on a chair to take a quick nap, "I don't know why everyone doesn't get an epidural. They're wonderful!"
Yes, I did manage to sneak in a little nap while I waited for my doctor to finish up someone else's C-section. When I woke up, my nurse checked my dilation and told me that I was 9 cm dilated and could expect to start pushing soon. She called the doctor to come down and prepare for delivery.
Now my doctor was one of the many at the civilian practice I had received all of my prenatal care. She was one of two that I had hoped to not be at my delivery, not because she wasn't competent but more because she had the bedside manner of a houseplant. Then again, I generally warm up to houseplants more... After checking me, she declared that I was only 7 cm dilated.
I was ready to throttle her. My nurse had been on the labor/delivery floor significantly longer than the doctor had. I doubted that I could have shrunk two centimeters. And by this point, I was starting to feel pretty uncomfortable. Just as I pondered letting the doctor know what I thought of her measurement, the nurse told me those magic words, "You know, if you are feeling uncomfortable, you can just push the button to increase the amount of medicine in your epidural."
Oh yeah... Drugs on demand! What more could I have asked for?
With more drugs flowing through my system, I did feel a lot better. There was still a lot of pressure so another hour or so later, I demanded my doctor to come down and check me again. She told me that I was now at 8 cm, but I wouldn't be allowed to start pushing until I was at least 9 cm.
Another hour later, closer to 9 am, I demanded my doctor to check me again. She told me I was still at 8 cm and then rushed off to take care of some "paperwork". I had a nagging suspicion she was probably in the doctor's lounge playing Angry Birds.
By about 10:40, I had reached my breaking point. The pressure I felt made me feel like I needed to start pushing or risk exploding. This time, I told the nurse, "I'm going to start pushing whether the doctor's here or not."
The nurse, bless her calm and experience, excused herself politely to the hallway to call the doctor. I had already started pushing. I figured that in the worst case, I was already at the hospital surrounded by fully trained staff. Heck, my labor and delivery nurse could probably have delivered my baby herself. I'm pretty sure the nurse made it amply clear to the doctor that she needed to get there. Immediately. The doctor made it there in time for Anduin's head to crown and to tell me to stop pushing since the umblical cord was wrapped around her neck. I paused only momentarily to free the cord. And then I continued pushing so hard and so quickly that it only took about five pushes before Anduin was free at 10:53 am.
The staff cleaned her off marginally and laid her across my stomach. I glanced down at her and only had the time to think, "That's not my baby. She's gigantic!" before they risked her off to take measurements and check her Apgar score.
She still hadn't cried yet. I probably would have been more concerned except that I had to still deliver the placenta... and then the doctor took that very moment to dig into my flesh and cut away a suspicious looking mole. As if my body hadn't gone through enough.
Anduin cried momentarily and was declared healthy. When they finally gave her back to me, I looked down at her, wrapped in her baby burrito blanket (aka swaddled) and thought,
"Wow, she's not very cute. In fact, she's a pretty ugly baby. And she's huge."
That's right. Those were my thoughts. I'd like to blame the epidural still, but let's face it, newborns are not attractive creatures. Thanks to an aggressive PR campaign, the fact that most women have just endured one of the most traumatic experiences ever, and the surging amounts of oxytocin in their bodies, most women manage to overlook their newborn's looks and declare them to be the most beautiful thing they've ever seen. Anduin, like most newborns, looked more alien than Gerber baby. It probably didn't help that the bruising on her face and her pointy head came from me pushing her rather hard through a tiny tunnel. Owen, my first, managed to avoid both of these features by being tiny at 6 lbs. Anduin, on the other hand, was a very healthy 8 lbs 1 oz and an inch and a half longer than her brother.
It was the student nurse, not me, who gushed, "She's beautiful!"
Then again, it was also the student nurse who later said while checking my uterus as it shrunk in size, "You have a beautiful uterus!" So I should probably take those compliments with a grain of salt.
But here's the happy ending: Fortunately babies generally get significantly cuter with time. Oh, and that oxytocin really builds up in your system so that even if yours doesn't, your hormones have bonded you to your baby anyway. And M* and I recovered in the same ward so our hours old babies had playdates.
Lessons learned:
1. Your pregnancies -- and the resulting deliveries -- can be incredibly different.
2. Newborns are not attractive creatures. Strongly suggest making it clear to your spouse or support person that even if you and they have this thought, they need to lie to you and tell you that that tiny human being you just spent 10 months carrying and hours laboring to deliver is the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
3. Epidurals are wonderful. Your husband/support person will likely appreciate the personality change they evoke.
4. Drugs on command are wonderful. Sorry to repeat, but this is incredibly important.
5. Don't be afraid to tell your doctor to put down the Angry Birds and get back to what's really important: ending your misery by delivering your baby.
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