Knights Becoming and a Lady in Waiting

Happy Birthday, Prince Berryboy

Seven years ago today, I was feeling pretty good (better than today, in fact).  True, I was two weeks overdue with my first child and 32 pounds heavier than a year previous, but I was blessed enough to have one of those pregnancies that looks just like I stuffed a basketball under my shirt-- all straight forward.  Hard to tie my shoes, but that's what slip-ons are for.

We had moved just a few months before from our nice (expensive) one-bedroom apartment in the nicer part of the LA. Valley to a two-bedroom (less expensive) apartment in... well, not-so-nice a part of L.A.  We were both determined that I would stay home with our kids and the only way to do that in California is to make a sacrifice in housing.

That morning, I got up, showered, and went to my doctor's appointment.  Almost no dilation.  He patted me on the shoulder and told me to make an appointment for Monday.  If nothing happened by then, perhaps we'd have to induce.

In spite of the looming deadline, I went home, tidied up the already spotless house (imagine me home all day for two weeks with no kids), and generally fussed a bit.  Then it started.  Gas pains.

I've always had issues with gas pains.  Sometimes, it's been bad enough to make me pass out.  This felt like, well, gas pains.  The only thing that relieves that pain is to walk it out, so I started pacing.

Ten minutes later, I was a little perturbed.  It didn't feel like anything was moving, but that same pain was still there.  So I called my mom.  She pronounced that I was probably in labor and should call DH.  I called him and cheerfully informed him that we might be having a baby.  He asked if he should come home.  "Oh, no," I assured him.  "They say first babies take a while."

I went ahead and ate half a peanut butter sandwich with a glass of milk, then started pacing again.  Since I never made it to a La Maze class, how was I to know that helped speed up labor?

I called my mom a little later, out of breath and just a tiny bit worried.  "I think they're coming faster now."  She asked how fast and I said, "Five minutes?"

Okay, okay.  I called DH and told him to come home NOW.  The only problem is that, well, at 4:30pm on a Friday afternoon in L.A., there isn't such a thing as coming home NOW.  I got a little worried and called my mom again.  "Maybe you should call an ambulance."

Here's a bit of advice for all of you: don't call an ambulance for a pregnancy.  Have the baby on your kitchen floor if you have to, but don't call an ambulance.

The paramedics were nice, but there were rules they had to follow.  Stretcher.  IV.  Lying down.  Ohhh, that lying down was a BAD thing.  Back labor started up hard.  Worse yet, they panicked at me having contractions every five minutes and refused to take me to my own hospital.  Instead, they took me to the closest one.  HUGE mistake.  I should've made hubby drive me out of there as soon as he arrived (just behind the ambulance).  Inexperienced and in pain, I didn't care.  Yet.

For a while, I had a really good nurse who was patient and was trying to coach me in breathing.  I was determined not to have an epidural.  When that nurse went off-shift, though, the next one was impatient with me.  "You should've taken the La Maze," she said bluntly.  "Do you want the epidural?"  I didn't, but she was advising it...

The anestheologist took one look at me and informed me I couldn't have an epidural.  "Too late."  Okay, fine.  I can't have one.  "But do you want one?"  I decided this was some sort of sadistic game they played with new mothers.  "I want it not to hurt!" I sobbed.  Famous last words.

I don't know what that woman put in my IV, but I never want to have it again.  I fell asleep between contractions, only to wake up with each contraction-- feeling them just as intently.  I don't think there's anything worse than to wake up, disoriented, in intense pain.  As soon as the contraction ended, I'd doze off again.  Also, they had me in this chair thing where I couldn't even lie on my side comfortably, so the back labor was intense.

Almost six hours passed this way.  Finally, a doctor declared I was close enough and I could push.  Hey, if pushing was going to get this over with, I was going to PUSH.

Two pushes, no problem.  Then there was a sharp pain.  I later found out I'd been given an episotomy (without asking, of course).  I didn't even have to push the third time.  Prince Berryboy slid into the world, hairy and beautiful.  He had hair from the back of his neck all the way over his head to his eyebrows.  He was also somewhat quiet (probably from the drug they gave me).  At 11:24 (or 23:24 military time), on my 28th birthday, my little boy came into my life.

I would do it all over again, too.  Happy Birthday, Prince Berryboy.

Untitled Comment

9:24 PM, Sep. 24, 2006 .. Posted by chickadee

i enjoyed reading the birth stories!