My due date came and went and a 6-mile walk with Daniel did no good but cause fatigue. Finally, 6 days after my due date, my water broke. It was 2:30pm on Wednesday, March 28th. I called Daniel home from work so that we could drive an hour to the hospital, not knowing how quickly labor would be. My mom came with us and I kept a notebook, timing contractions that started about 45 minutes after the water broke. They were very gentle and not coming frequently in the beginning.
Arriving at triage, I am 2 centimeters dilated and am told to walk around the hospital and eat lightly so we head down to Subway and try to get labor going. We walk and walk and walk. Eventually we go back and get set up in a room. The birthing suites were very nice and comfortable. Visitors begin arriving. I’m checked occasionally and am not progressing very quickly, despite the increasing pain of the contractions. Family and friends who were well-meaning ended up making me feel out of sorts and stressed, extending labor further.
Fast-forward to the next evening, 28 hours after water broke. I’ve dilated to 8 centimeters and things are going downhill. By this point, I have no energy to stay on top of the contractions and exhaustion is getting the best of me. I end up sleeping through the contractions in the last few hours. The baby stops responding to the contractions and is not fully engaged in the pelvis and the on-call midwife is concerned about my water being broken for so long (with so many vaginal exams, infection is likely). I’m talked into a dose of an IV drug, Nubain. It does nothing but make me even more tired. An amnioinfusion is done to try to cushion the baby, in hope of making her relax and come down the birth canal. As far as I can tell this has no effect. I’m also instructed to get on my hands and knees to help with her descent. This is difficult because the contractions are killing me and I have zero energy.
Finally, “c-section” is brought up and I have no fight left in me to combat this idea. The midwife explains the combination of factors that make it seem like the best option: water broken past 24 hours, “failure to progress” (which I suspect was not true), failure to engage, fetal distress, and maternal exhaustion. I agree and am wheeled into the OR for the prep.
In the OR, I’m told to sit up so that I can receive my spinal and have one last contraction. The anesthesiologist says, “That may be the last contraction you ever feel.” Once I’m numb and ready for the procedure, Daniel’s brought in, dressed in scrubs and a mask. Most of it’s a blur because I’m in and out of consciousness, trying to stay awake for the birth of my baby. Then she’s out and I hear crying. “5:56 pm.” The nurse asks me if I want “a little margarita” in my IV and I just nod. Then I’m asleep. Once the rest is over and I’m all sewn up, I’m wheeled into the private recovery room where Daniel and my sweet little girl are waiting. I get to hold her 30-45 minutes after she’s born and, although I’m dead tired and half-numb, I am so relieved to have her out and see that she’s healthy.
One stupid thought I had when I was being wheeled into the OR and after the c-section was, “Oh, thank God. Now it’ll just be me and Daniel and since visiting hours are now over and everyone else has to come back tomorrow to see my new baby, I’ll have her to myself!” That was definitely a perk!
I try to nurse her right away in the recovery room, with the help of the nurse and it’s not exactly successful, but it’s a good time to get acquainted. I continue trying to breastfeed her over the next few days and it proves very difficult. Chloe was born with her tongue sticking out. I mean, her head was born, sticking out of me, and she’s looking up at the doctors with her tongue sticking out at them- not a happy girl. Turned out that she kept it out for the next 3 months and that made it hard for her to learn breastfeeding and I experienced cracked, bleeding nipples. Since I refused formula (it was never an option for me) and breastfeeding wasn’t getting the job done, she developed moderate jaundice. She was put under the bili-lights for 24-36 hours because her level got up to 19 and the doctors got concerned. So we spent most of that time in the nursery with her, feeding, cuddling her, and holding her under the lights.
Finally I received a visit from the midwife who had taken care of my prenatal care and we discuss the birth and the breastfeeding problems. I had been visited previously from an on-staff lactation consultant who did nothing to improve the situation except frustrate and confuse me and piss off Chloe by shoving her onto my breast. My midwife suggested I try the “football” hold. We get her all setup, I move her in slow-motion toward my breast to latch on and… it works. Since that latch-on, she nursed like a champ. I continued to have soreness from the previous damage, but it healed after that and my temporary use of a nipple shield was discontinued.
Afterbirth experience
Once home, I was stuck in bed to recover with my new tiny angel and Percocet. I had Daniel there helping me for the first week or so but I couldn’t tell you what it was like because the drugs had me so out of it that it’s all a haze. Somehow we made it through that time without any drug-induced mishaps and I eventually come out of the Percocet Haze. Once it was just me and my girl, I settle into a routine of cuddle, nurse, nap, cuddle, but something is amiss.
As I described in a previous post, my uterus was not ready to let go of her and experienced its own version of post-traumatic stress disorder which was cured with sessions of closeness between the two.
I went on to breastfeed Chloe until she was 18 ½ months old, when I was 4 months pregnant with her little brother.
She still has the stick-your-tongue-out-at-the-world attitude. That’s my girl!
Thanks for sharing! She's beautiful!
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