I realize I didn't update my pregnancy much on the blog, but it was just as special, if not more special, than any of the others. And I only say "more special" because he is our last baby. So I was truly trying to savor every painful step, every late and sleepless night, and every single kick. And he was quite active--more than any of his siblings ever were.
Doctors and nurses even started to take notice of how active he was. I went in to the hospital for an External Cephalic Version at 36/6. The nurse and both doctors could not believe how active he was that day. He'd started out with his head lodged into my left hip. Then they monitored him for a little bit and drew my blood. When they docs came back an hour later to find his position, his head was up under my right ribs. ACTIVE? YES! He did, however, turn within a minute of their attempt to turn him head down.They wrapped me in a binder which I wore for another four hours. But by that evening I had a sneaking suspicion that he had turned head up again.
I went to my 37 week check up the next day and the doctor guessed him to not be head down. I was a little worried that I'd have to have a c-section, or even another ECV, but I tried to not be overly concerned and instead focus on trying to move him into the correct position on my own. So I did all the crazy techniques that have been mentioned to mothers with breech babies for decades. I became besties with my exercise ball. And I prayed--and prayed some more that I could just have him turn on his own, my water would break, I'd have a few real contractions on the way to the hospital, and within the next 5 hours I'd be holding my first son.
But I went to my 38 week appointment hopeful and came home disapointed. We ended up setting up another ECV for the day I turend 39 weeks, which was Sept. 7. As the day neared, I realized I had too much going on that weekend to give birth, plus I wanted to ride out the pregnancy a bit more and hope for a head down baby. So we rescheduled for Sept. 10. Well, I went to my 39 wk check up and he was head down. A miracle, so I thought, had happened. I cancelled my ECV with immediate induction and went home mostly happy about waiting it out. The only part I didn't like about waiting was the anticipation and the fact that it's hard to prepare when you don't know when little one will make his appearance. But I dealt with that fine.
My due date came on Sept. 14, and I was hardly even phased by it. Both Matt and my doctor wished me "Happy Due Date" day, and I was proud to make it that far. At that appointment though, I found out that I would be giving birth for sure in the next two weeks because my doctor would not let me go past 42 weeks. So I had the option of being induced that weekend with my doctor being on call, or risk going into labor and not having my doctor be there. Or even worse, having to be induced at the last possible moment when my doctor could've been out of town. So, due to some complications I've had the last two times post-delivery, I wanted my doctor to monitor my labor and the fluids I received, deliver me, and do my follow-up care while I was in the hospital. So the induction was set for the next night, Sept. 15.
However, shortly after this was all set, my nurse texted me and said that we'd have to choose Saturday morning or Sunday night. So we chose Sunday night, Sept. 16, in order to get things done around the house and attend all the soccer games that weekend. I know, priorities right?
Fast-forward to Sunday night, a night in which I fully intended to sit all perked up in my bed and blog about the experience (but that didn't happen), and I'm in the hospital at 7:30 with a sweet nurse, slippers on my feet, and a cytotec pill in my system. I started getting mild-moderate contractions shortly thereafter. They were too distracting for me to type on a computer, so I rode out the very. long. night.
By the next morning I'd had more cytotec and I'd continued to regularly contract. I was then started on pitocin. I labored for a while and handled contractions well. Then all of a sudden I had the contraction from hell! It felt like nothing I'd ever felt and I caved--I burst into tears from the pain and yelled for my epidural to get there quick. There was no way in Dante's Inferno that my body would need to feel what an exploding uterus felt like EVER AGAIN!
About 30 mins later I could sense relief was in the air--my anesthesiologist walked into the room. I'd had him before and knew he was nice--he describes each step as he does it. I find that comforting. So all was said and done, and next thing I know they're asking me how I'm feeling as I begin to lie down. I remember being embarrassed for fear that people would see me as some kind of druggie, but I said "high" because I figured that's what would best describe the incredible dizziness that took over. I don't really remember much of the next hour after this. My husband said my bp dropped to 70/30. What scared me the most was feeling like I couldn't breathe or swallow. I felt scared for my life because I felt the effects of the epidural from the waist up--as opposed to the waist down. My chest, neck, lips... everything was numb. I had to swallow at one point and I popped up in bed to try to let gravity help me, and all I remember was gagging, spitting, and the docs and nurses commenting about my being able to sit up. Well, that's because the epi wasn't working, people!!! Well, it wasn't working in the right spots!
I know there were extra people in the room while this was going on, and I know they were trying to talk to me--but I can't remember what they were saying. Matt told me that he got scared when my response time to questions was several seconds after the fact. About an hour after all this crazy stuff started, I think I finally "came to," for lack of a better phrase. I remember looking up at the speckled ceiling and asking if a spot that was moving very erratically was what it looked like (a bug), or what I thought it probably was (a spot on the ceiling that looked like it was a bug because I was still so dizzy/"high"). But I know this is the first time I felt somewhat normal and like I wasn't going to die, so I was happy. Once the medication wore off, I was left with a terribly itchy face that I scrubbed over and over with a wet washcloth--only to later discover I'd made myself bleed--super awesome!
So eventually everything normalized. I was taken off of the pit and epi meds, but slowly they were turned back on. I made slow, but steady progress throughout the afternoon. My poor nurse had to chase my baby all afternoon. He was so active, the monitoring strips had to constantly be moved to keep track of him. By this point I remember thinking that I wasn't going to get an early afternoon (at the latest) birth like I'd wanted, but instead would be delivering into the late hours of the night. We also decided that our little man owed our sweet nurse Maria (more on this dear woman to come) a beer! She hardly left my bedside all day due to the epidural craziness and his bouts of ADD!
The afternoon passed by, and my doctor showed up around 6 to see how things were progressing and possibly break my waters. Well, baby boy had finally dropped low enough for waters to break so she broke them. We continued talking for a few minutes when I realized his heart was dipping. I mentioned it, and the doctor went to put an internal monitor on his head. A second or two later, she said "C-section, NOW! This isn't a head!"
...To be continued...
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