11 years ago
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Birth Story
I can't believe it's been five weeks since Charlotte came into this world. Time is both flying and creeping by, and it honestly feels like she's been with us forever. She's asleep in my lap just now, so I thought I should tell her birth story before it's memory has become so blurred by time that I've forgotten how it happened. Here goes...
Sunday, March 21st, was just another 9-months-pregnant day. I hadn't slept particularly well the night before, so it was kind of a relief to send C on his merry way to watch his nephews' dirt bike races. I was free to nap and lounge the day away, although I was a little eager to get a few things done and errands run because we couldn't really know when the baby would decide to arrive. My greatest worry at the time was that she wouldn't come out on her own in time and we'd be talked into an induction. One of the OBs in the practice had explained that my risk of stillbirth at 40 weeks' gestation would be comparable to a 27-year-old's at 42 weeks. I feared that an induction would lead to the cascade of interventions that would ultimately end with the most invasive of births, a c-section, and the full acoutrement of drugs. I didn't care about taking drugs for my own sake, but did not want my baby entering the world under the influence of anything but her natural hormones.
C returned home, and we went out to the local warehouse store to pick up some provisions- I didn't want to be lifting to 35-pound cartons of cat litter, so I insisted he go with me. As soon as we got home, I started making dinner- pasta with meat sauce, our last meal sans child. At 8:05 pm, I dropped an uncooked noodle on the floor and, when I bent to pick it up, felt a gush of fluid between my legs. As I scurried to the nearest bathroom, I hollered to C, "We're having a baby tonight, and the pasta needs to be drained in 9 minutes (I know that's what I said, because C repeated it to everyone who asked how our labor had begun, and to several people who didn't ask)."
Eventually, the steady stream of fluid slowed to a trickle that I felt a pad could manage, so I tossed my wet clothes in the washing machine, took a shower, and sat down to a late dinner. All the while, C was assembling all the things we thought we might need for a prolonged, first-baby labor- birthing ball, extra pillows, something to read, our hypnobirthing handouts, a CD player and an iPod,... He dutifully loaded up the car and then got a bit impatient when I requested he snap a belly shot (our first and last) before leaving. Somewhere in that time, I called the hospital and let them know my water had broken (definitively- there was no doubt whatsoever) and was advised to "come in soon."
We arrived at the birthing center at 10:00 pm, and in spite of all my visits for NSTs, I didn't recognize a soul (so much for familiarity). By 10:45, we were monitoring Ishka's heart rate and my contractions, which were just becoming "real" after an afternoon full of BH's. I was 4cm dilated, 100% effaced. My biggest fear was coming to pass- I was stuck on the hospital bed, not allowed to walk or move around because they wanted to monitor the baby and me, while painful contractions began. The nurse convinced me to accept an IV (I had a choice with respect to the IV, but they wouldn't let me get off the bed until Ishka became "responsive" supposedly, IV fluids would elicit a response). As soon as the baby's heart rate demonstrated the desired rises and falls, I was disconnected from the IV and allowed to walk the halls, bounce on the birthing ball, or whatever else I felt like doing. I think it was about 11:20 when we took our first stroll down the hall.
Backtracking a little, let me mention that the contractions I felt while lying on the damned hospital bed were the worst pain of the whole night. I truly believe that most women would be abe to manage their pain without medication if only they were allowed to get off the bed and move around. The pain was, as we've all heard, a very intense pressure. But it also involved a sensation of something hard pressing or moving against something equally hard, both unyielding, with no possible resolution in the position I was in. Even contractions that registered very low on the monitor were extremely painful. Had I continued in that position, I think I would have begged for an epidural. Luckily, I walked.
Anyhow, strolling the hall was not without it's own kind of discomfort. The 50-yard promenade was punctuated each way by at least 3 contractions, which felt like an overwhelmingly irresistable and massive bowel movement after prolonged constipation (you get the picture, right?). I got through them by leaning my head against the wall, hanging onto the railing, and rocking side to side with bent knees, focusing on staying as loose as could be by consciously relaxing my mouth and facial muscles. When we got back to my room, I decided that maybe I did need to use the bathroom, since that's what it felt like, so I sat on the toilet. Time began to blur.
I sat for a while in the bathroom. The institutional toilet is a little taller than mine at home, so it was the perfect height for me to crouch, semi-squatted on. I threw up. While SuperNurse cleaned up my mess, I walked part-way down the hall again with nearly constant contractions. I must have handled them well, though, because the nurses later confessed that they didn't think much was going on with me at that point. Back in the room, I tried out the birthing ball, but it felt wrong somehow to have something between my legs. The toilet, with its open seat, was way more comfortable, so I headed back into the bathroom. At some point, I stopped fighting the urge to push and just gave in to it. Eventually, I figured I should go back into the room to see how C was doing and when I wiped (I wasn't using the facilities per se, but amniotic fluid was still trickly out now and then) I felt something...
SuperNurse was in the room and asked how I was feeling. I asked her if it was normal to feel something between my legs. I climbed on the bed so she could check and see what I was talking about. One peek and she said, We're having this baby NOW." She ran into the hall (apparently calling for back-up) and suddenly a whole army of nurses were in the room- turning on the baby warmer, assembling all sorts of instruments. But I was kind of oblivious to it all. Our baby was nearly here!
Someone asked C and me what we thought we were having, giving us one last chance to officially guess before we'd find out. We both said, "A girl." On the next contraction, I breathed into my body's instinctive action without consciously pushing. I was asked not to push on the next one, but I saw my baby's head crowning (reflected in the TV, or was there a mirror? I don't know, but I know I saw the head). One more contraction, one more instant of allowing my body to do what it knew how to do, and our Charlotte was on my chest looking into my eyes.
The doctor arrived about 5 minutes later. He missed the big event, but got to stick around for a while to stitch me up (2nd degree tear) while I counted fingers and toes. C had no interest in or desire to cut the cord, so I did it (it was kind of anti-clamactic, to be honest). I snuggled Charlotte for what felt like a long time and even made a first attempt to nurse her before she fell asleep and I allowed the nurses to take her for weighing and a more thorough cleaning.
So yeah, labor hurt. But my body knew what to do and as long as I reacted instinctively, without fighting myself, the discomfort was never overwhelming. I'm not sure I could have continued for 8 hours, or 12 or some other terribly long time, but I think it went quickly BECAUSE I was unmedicated. I'd do it again, and I hope we get that opportunity some day.
Sunday, March 21st, was just another 9-months-pregnant day. I hadn't slept particularly well the night before, so it was kind of a relief to send C on his merry way to watch his nephews' dirt bike races. I was free to nap and lounge the day away, although I was a little eager to get a few things done and errands run because we couldn't really know when the baby would decide to arrive. My greatest worry at the time was that she wouldn't come out on her own in time and we'd be talked into an induction. One of the OBs in the practice had explained that my risk of stillbirth at 40 weeks' gestation would be comparable to a 27-year-old's at 42 weeks. I feared that an induction would lead to the cascade of interventions that would ultimately end with the most invasive of births, a c-section, and the full acoutrement of drugs. I didn't care about taking drugs for my own sake, but did not want my baby entering the world under the influence of anything but her natural hormones.
C returned home, and we went out to the local warehouse store to pick up some provisions- I didn't want to be lifting to 35-pound cartons of cat litter, so I insisted he go with me. As soon as we got home, I started making dinner- pasta with meat sauce, our last meal sans child. At 8:05 pm, I dropped an uncooked noodle on the floor and, when I bent to pick it up, felt a gush of fluid between my legs. As I scurried to the nearest bathroom, I hollered to C, "We're having a baby tonight, and the pasta needs to be drained in 9 minutes (I know that's what I said, because C repeated it to everyone who asked how our labor had begun, and to several people who didn't ask)."
Eventually, the steady stream of fluid slowed to a trickle that I felt a pad could manage, so I tossed my wet clothes in the washing machine, took a shower, and sat down to a late dinner. All the while, C was assembling all the things we thought we might need for a prolonged, first-baby labor- birthing ball, extra pillows, something to read, our hypnobirthing handouts, a CD player and an iPod,... He dutifully loaded up the car and then got a bit impatient when I requested he snap a belly shot (our first and last) before leaving. Somewhere in that time, I called the hospital and let them know my water had broken (definitively- there was no doubt whatsoever) and was advised to "come in soon."
We arrived at the birthing center at 10:00 pm, and in spite of all my visits for NSTs, I didn't recognize a soul (so much for familiarity). By 10:45, we were monitoring Ishka's heart rate and my contractions, which were just becoming "real" after an afternoon full of BH's. I was 4cm dilated, 100% effaced. My biggest fear was coming to pass- I was stuck on the hospital bed, not allowed to walk or move around because they wanted to monitor the baby and me, while painful contractions began. The nurse convinced me to accept an IV (I had a choice with respect to the IV, but they wouldn't let me get off the bed until Ishka became "responsive" supposedly, IV fluids would elicit a response). As soon as the baby's heart rate demonstrated the desired rises and falls, I was disconnected from the IV and allowed to walk the halls, bounce on the birthing ball, or whatever else I felt like doing. I think it was about 11:20 when we took our first stroll down the hall.
Backtracking a little, let me mention that the contractions I felt while lying on the damned hospital bed were the worst pain of the whole night. I truly believe that most women would be abe to manage their pain without medication if only they were allowed to get off the bed and move around. The pain was, as we've all heard, a very intense pressure. But it also involved a sensation of something hard pressing or moving against something equally hard, both unyielding, with no possible resolution in the position I was in. Even contractions that registered very low on the monitor were extremely painful. Had I continued in that position, I think I would have begged for an epidural. Luckily, I walked.
Anyhow, strolling the hall was not without it's own kind of discomfort. The 50-yard promenade was punctuated each way by at least 3 contractions, which felt like an overwhelmingly irresistable and massive bowel movement after prolonged constipation (you get the picture, right?). I got through them by leaning my head against the wall, hanging onto the railing, and rocking side to side with bent knees, focusing on staying as loose as could be by consciously relaxing my mouth and facial muscles. When we got back to my room, I decided that maybe I did need to use the bathroom, since that's what it felt like, so I sat on the toilet. Time began to blur.
I sat for a while in the bathroom. The institutional toilet is a little taller than mine at home, so it was the perfect height for me to crouch, semi-squatted on. I threw up. While SuperNurse cleaned up my mess, I walked part-way down the hall again with nearly constant contractions. I must have handled them well, though, because the nurses later confessed that they didn't think much was going on with me at that point. Back in the room, I tried out the birthing ball, but it felt wrong somehow to have something between my legs. The toilet, with its open seat, was way more comfortable, so I headed back into the bathroom. At some point, I stopped fighting the urge to push and just gave in to it. Eventually, I figured I should go back into the room to see how C was doing and when I wiped (I wasn't using the facilities per se, but amniotic fluid was still trickly out now and then) I felt something...
SuperNurse was in the room and asked how I was feeling. I asked her if it was normal to feel something between my legs. I climbed on the bed so she could check and see what I was talking about. One peek and she said, We're having this baby NOW." She ran into the hall (apparently calling for back-up) and suddenly a whole army of nurses were in the room- turning on the baby warmer, assembling all sorts of instruments. But I was kind of oblivious to it all. Our baby was nearly here!
Someone asked C and me what we thought we were having, giving us one last chance to officially guess before we'd find out. We both said, "A girl." On the next contraction, I breathed into my body's instinctive action without consciously pushing. I was asked not to push on the next one, but I saw my baby's head crowning (reflected in the TV, or was there a mirror? I don't know, but I know I saw the head). One more contraction, one more instant of allowing my body to do what it knew how to do, and our Charlotte was on my chest looking into my eyes.
The doctor arrived about 5 minutes later. He missed the big event, but got to stick around for a while to stitch me up (2nd degree tear) while I counted fingers and toes. C had no interest in or desire to cut the cord, so I did it (it was kind of anti-clamactic, to be honest). I snuggled Charlotte for what felt like a long time and even made a first attempt to nurse her before she fell asleep and I allowed the nurses to take her for weighing and a more thorough cleaning.
So yeah, labor hurt. But my body knew what to do and as long as I reacted instinctively, without fighting myself, the discomfort was never overwhelming. I'm not sure I could have continued for 8 hours, or 12 or some other terribly long time, but I think it went quickly BECAUSE I was unmedicated. I'd do it again, and I hope we get that opportunity some day.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
one month. Thirty-one days. A lifetime.
My baby girl is a month old today, and we can't remember life without her in it. She truly is the center of our universe and we couldn't be happier. Here are some of the ways Ishka has changed since we met her-
At birth, she weighed 7 pounds 5 ounces and was 19 inches tall. She was down to 6lbs 9oz when we left the hospital, but as of yesterday's appointment, she's up to 8lbs 12.5oz and 21.5 inches tall (40th & 70th percentile respectively). We seem to have a tall, lean child.
As of Monday, at the ripe old age of 4 weeks, she officially outgrew her newborn sleep-n-play outfits. Her feet had been too big for a week or so, but on Monday she was no longer able to stretch out to her full length while stuffed into newborn clothing. Alas, she still swims a bit in the 0-3 month sized apparel. (I overestimated her size and didn't buy any newborn clothes, thinking that "0-3 months" would cover a non-preemie newborn. I was wrong.)
We're out of "newborn" sized diapers and will not be buying any more. Our baby is officially in size 1 now.
Ishka has a lot more control over her head and has been able to control where it goes when she's lying on her back since about day-6. Her first week, she slept in whatever position she was placed in- head flopped completely to one side or the other. Now, even in her sleep, she can face straight up if she wants to.
Breastfeeding is still a work in progress, but has improved immensely. For the first 3 weeks, we tried the boob occasionally with a nipple shield but rarely met with anything but frustration (both of us) and pain (me). I pumped and Ishka took her feedings by bottle. Then, on 4/13, it was if a switch had been flipped and she suddenly latched onto the nipple shield and took her meals directly from the source. We have moments now when my nipples don't cooperate or when she doesn't seem to actually get anything from suckling (for up to an hour) and we revert to a bottle of brest milk and a pumping session now and then, but 85% of her meals are bottle-free now. Unfortunately, the excrutiating pain is often still there so the decision to take a feeding by bottle is sometimes for the sake of comfort. The encouragement we found in our one visit so far to the local support group was fabulous, so we'll be attending weekly with the intention of sticking with breastfeeding for at least 6 months.
Our little girl knows the difference between night and day, and prefers not to miss anything that happens during daylight hours. She simply will not sleep anywhere but in my arms during the day, but she's happy as a clam in her bassinette at night. We have a Moby and a Bjorn. She sometimes tolerates the Moby, but I haven't assembled the Bjorn yet. Once we work out how to free up my hands during the day, we'll both be happier and I'll start working from home a bit to stretch out the length of my maternity leave.
She has the cutest smiles as she drifts off to sleep. We know they're not "real," but those little grins are no less beautiful. We're looking forward to genuine grins and giggles yet to come.
There's more to say, but I need to get dressed and eat something before she wakes up and realizes that it's day time again.
At birth, she weighed 7 pounds 5 ounces and was 19 inches tall. She was down to 6lbs 9oz when we left the hospital, but as of yesterday's appointment, she's up to 8lbs 12.5oz and 21.5 inches tall (40th & 70th percentile respectively). We seem to have a tall, lean child.
As of Monday, at the ripe old age of 4 weeks, she officially outgrew her newborn sleep-n-play outfits. Her feet had been too big for a week or so, but on Monday she was no longer able to stretch out to her full length while stuffed into newborn clothing. Alas, she still swims a bit in the 0-3 month sized apparel. (I overestimated her size and didn't buy any newborn clothes, thinking that "0-3 months" would cover a non-preemie newborn. I was wrong.)
We're out of "newborn" sized diapers and will not be buying any more. Our baby is officially in size 1 now.
Ishka has a lot more control over her head and has been able to control where it goes when she's lying on her back since about day-6. Her first week, she slept in whatever position she was placed in- head flopped completely to one side or the other. Now, even in her sleep, she can face straight up if she wants to.
Breastfeeding is still a work in progress, but has improved immensely. For the first 3 weeks, we tried the boob occasionally with a nipple shield but rarely met with anything but frustration (both of us) and pain (me). I pumped and Ishka took her feedings by bottle. Then, on 4/13, it was if a switch had been flipped and she suddenly latched onto the nipple shield and took her meals directly from the source. We have moments now when my nipples don't cooperate or when she doesn't seem to actually get anything from suckling (for up to an hour) and we revert to a bottle of brest milk and a pumping session now and then, but 85% of her meals are bottle-free now. Unfortunately, the excrutiating pain is often still there so the decision to take a feeding by bottle is sometimes for the sake of comfort. The encouragement we found in our one visit so far to the local support group was fabulous, so we'll be attending weekly with the intention of sticking with breastfeeding for at least 6 months.
Our little girl knows the difference between night and day, and prefers not to miss anything that happens during daylight hours. She simply will not sleep anywhere but in my arms during the day, but she's happy as a clam in her bassinette at night. We have a Moby and a Bjorn. She sometimes tolerates the Moby, but I haven't assembled the Bjorn yet. Once we work out how to free up my hands during the day, we'll both be happier and I'll start working from home a bit to stretch out the length of my maternity leave.
She has the cutest smiles as she drifts off to sleep. We know they're not "real," but those little grins are no less beautiful. We're looking forward to genuine grins and giggles yet to come.
There's more to say, but I need to get dressed and eat something before she wakes up and realizes that it's day time again.
Friday, April 9, 2010
wow
Charlotte, C and I are doing well. C started working exactly one week after Charlotte's birth, so the baby and I are on our own during the day. She had some trouble latching, so we spent two whole weeks pumping every drop I could and feeding it to her from a bottle. Between pumping, feeding, washing pump parts, and staring in awe at my daughter, I haven't slept much. Latching isn't perfect yet, and I still pump about half the time to give my extremely sore nipples a break, but things are improving. Birth story soon... I promise. After a nap, maybe.
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