We’re now a family of six! After a pregnancy that transitioned from the BEST EVER to one that was the WORST EVER (yay for trimesters that have fluctuated widely), I’m happy to say we have added a cute little dude to our brood, making us gender-even with 2 boys and 2 girls.
This was the childbirth that was unlike every other and also like every other. I finally felt contractions! Serious contractions! Measurable contractions! A LOT of contractions. There were so many starting at around 25 weeks that at 34 weeks when things got out of hand (during an ultrasound appointment of all times, so I was already in the hospital–yay for fortunate timing!), they had me admitted for a night where they shot me up with two steroid shots in my butt, reminding me of the agony I felt when I had that happen when David was born (hi David! <3, fortunately, there was no pain for one shot and a slight pain for the other, nothing like when I had that shot when I was in labor with David).
I was also given a cocktail of shots (in my IV and in my shoulder) and pills that were all supposed to eventually heal me. However, most of those meds did nothing to reduce the contractions or the pain. The contractions were consistent until the hospital staff went heavy-up on the meds which took hours to work. That’s why I spent the night, to see if the contractions would stop and if I would dilate.
Or not.
And I didn’t.
The remaining weeks before I gave birth were no less pleasant than that night in the hospital, except the contractions (which never stopped despite taking Nifedipine) were not as excruciating. I was a big ball of fat, amniotic fluid, and baby. I would have loved to bribe my doctors to just induce me and call it a day, but no! They are a cautious group. Can’t say I blame doctors for wanting to keep the baby incubating as much as possible.
By week 37, after being in agonizing pain, almost unable to breathe at times, scratching my itchy belly (my PUPPP returned for this kid), and having horrible pelvic issues, I was planning on figuring out next steps. After all, 37 weeks was once upon a time determined to be full term. The baby was apparently 8 lbs 8 oz as measured by my 36 week ultrasound, which is HUGE for a 36 weeker, so I was ready.
My OB told me the only way he’d do anything naturally at 37 weeks was if the ultrasound doctor approved it. So he sent me back to the hospital to make an appointment. With an assessment that I had a lot of amniotic fluid and the baby was big (but they weren’t going to try to measure him, lest he be ‘smaller’ than the last measurement of 8.5lb), they said I should be induced on Friday. In order to do so, since it wasn’t an emergency, I would have to call the hospital and inquire about bed availability in the Labor ward.
Friday, May 27, came. It was a weird feeling having three completely unpredictable birth dates for my other three children that I had a “planned delivery” especially for a VBAC (yep!). But at 6:30am, I called the hospital.
“Is a bed available?”
“No. Call back in an hour.”
I called two or three more times. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” I heard.
It was 2pm. I called again. “We’ll see about getting you a bed.”
At 4pm, my OB’s assistant called and said “yay! You’re getting a bed. The hospital will call you soon.”
At 5pm, a call from the hospital came. “Sorry, it didn’t work out. I tried really hard.”
So by then, I said, “It’s almost Shabbos (the Jewish sabbath, which I observe). I need to not have this baby then” so as to avoid a Shabbos day bris which is the naming ceremony on the baby’s 8th day of life, since I knew what I was having and didn’t want to do the religious circumcision ceremony on a day that couldn’t be witnessed by my family, most who don’t drive on Shabbat and would not be able to witness the naming. I worked carefully to see if my OB, who was only on call on Friday, could deliver my baby on Saturday night, and the labor receptionist said my OB would make an exception for me (which was only confirmed via phone message after Shabbos started. I had no idea). But I pretty much planned on not having my baby on May 27, even though I had been expecting that to happen. It was a bit disappointing and almost a relief too.
Mostly, it was kind of frustrating and agonizing to be in this area of not knowing what to expect. My in-laws were at the house to watch the kids under the assumption that I’d be spending all Friday at the hospital, birthing their fourth grandson. My parents had bought plane tickets to accommodate an eventual bris the following weekend.
And yet. Baby. In tummy.
So Shabbos came. I was hurting. I was ready. The hospital, however, was not.
I went to bed early that night. I was not wanting to be awake in such a state of discomfort.
Then I woke up at around 11pm with the usual. Discomfort. Have to go to the bathroom. My stomach was hurting a bit but it wasn’t like something I hadn’t had before.
I sat on the toilet and pushed. Not to push out a baby, but just to, well, go. And then, I went.
Not that way!
My WATER BROKE.
Brian had just gone to bed 50 minutes prior. I talked to him at the time. I was not feeling anywhere near what I felt at that 11pm Friday night. I started screaming, BRIAN BRIAN BRIAN BRIAN BRIAN. Water was gushing out of me (fortunately all in the toilet, woohoo!) I was frantic, screaming that “my water is broken! This is not me peeing!”
My mother-in-law came upstairs, wondering what all the commotion was about. While she was trying to calm me down, I was dealing with a whole new norm that everyone else knows so well but was incredibly foreign to me (my previous birth stories are all here in case you want to see how they all went down: David, Sarah, and Alana).
I don’t know much about water breaking but what I do know is that it usually stops. Because my stomach had so much amniotic fluid inside of me making me look like I was carrying triplets, I leaked for a long time and wore a towel between my legs to the hospital.
I called the hospital and told them I was coming after all. We left at 11:30pm. Brian’s mom initially insisted that I take an ambulance because she thought he wouldn’t be able to handle his wife in labor as a driver. I worried that an ambulance would take me to the wrong hospital. But he drove. And he was fine. There was no traffic, but my contractions resumed with a vengeance (though their spacing was erratic like all typical past experiences for me). I felt the same way I felt at 34 weeks, except I was 37 weeks (and 2 days) then. Or so they say. That means my due date, for those keeping track, was 2 days ago. Happy due date+2, little fella!
Anyhow, when we got there, we went through the Emergency ward, because that was the only thing open at the time. I was wheeled into the hospital and we tried to get to the Labor unit, only to find out that we needed to be wheeled by the Emergency room nurse. Fortunately, she did it right away. I found myself being taken into the Labor room immediately, and was almost shocked that there was not a wait at all for a bed. That certainly contradicted the understanding I had earlier about the hospital’s setup! (But yes, when recounting my earlier story about being induced earlier in the day, a nurse said there were 13 hospital deliveries that day, so I guess it was true.)
By the time I was on the uncomfortable labor bed, which was around midnight, I was 4cm dilated. They rushed the doctor for the epidural because these contractions mimicked the painful ones I had at 34 weeks, and he did a nice job, although they sent Brian out of the room for some reason per hospital policy. He was invited back in much later, maybe 20-30 minutes later. They checked me again at 1am. By then, I was 9cm dilated.
PUSH.
Well, wait. My uterus wanted the kid out of me, but I don’t think my baby wanted to go anywhere. (No wonder nothing happened at 34 weeks.) He was really high up. So I pushed. A lot. But it still took another 3 hours for him to get right where he needed to be.
They told me to try to sleep. I wasn’t sure how that was a realistic ask, but I wasn’t going to deal with this for awhile. What if there was this crazy possibility that I could still have a potential Sunday morning bris? Ha.
What a fickle mind I had. I don’t even think a Sunday bris crossed my mind at that time, but what did was that the baby was moving enough for me to feel ready, finally.
By 3:00am or so, we decided I’m going to just push. I had to relearn the whole push thing, but eventually, after counting and holding those damn pushes, the baby started lowering. They brought out a huge mirror for me to see, and eventually, I saw a head. And more of the head. Then, with another push, I felt something flop out of my body. And more of that something. And then a very stubborn anterior placenta which the doctor had to pry out of me. The nurse who took over after the delivery ended said that the hospital “looked like a warzone.” (Those were, quite literally, the words that came out of her mouth. The nurses took photos of what remained of the scene: tools, blood-soaked towels and blankets, and a steel bowl filled with blood.)
He cried immediately. He was also huge, and his hand was by his head when he came out. So not only did I have a big baby at 9 lbs and 1 oz (mind you, my largest until that point was 6 lbs 10 oz at 39 weeks, hi Sarah <3), I had a baby who wanted to claim victory (“I’m huge! WOOT! HAND UP!”) about his size, making recovery worse, but I guess I deserved it. 🙂
So little Danny (still known as “baby boy” or “Squeaky,” as his older siblings called him for another week) came out of me at 4:09am with fast breathing, concerning the nurses who admitted him to the NICU. He was ultimately fine by the morning, and Brian checked on him while I recovered off the epidural. The nurse was afraid to let me walk, but I told her I could (this was after being in agony when walking for weeks at this point, so it was quite a big deal and I wouldn’t risk it it I couldn’t handle it), and I was right. I checked on him and held him during the day, but I must say I actually appreciated having him be in the NICU for reasons that he was getting extra care and I was able to recover (just a bit).
Over the next 36 hours, Danny did much better. He was taken off the IV, held down fluids, and the hospital was totally fine with moving him into the regular nursery, except that I told all the doctors that I’d prefer to get out of the hospital (due to general pelvic discomfort, something I suffer from before and after every childbirth, but to a significantly greater extreme this time around) Sunday and not Monday if they’d ever allow.
Not only did they allow, they almost encouraged it. (A lot of people love staying at the hospital. It’s like a hotel. The place is gorgeous. Yes, I can now say it was worth having a kid being born in Connecticut for the five star hospital experience.) Since we were leaving anyway, transferring Danny to the nursery made no sense, and by 4pm Sunday, we were home with four kids.
While I was hating on the hospital for not having any beds and the initial first admission for false labor at 34 weeks (which was quite a sour experience due to one nurse with poor bedside manner and another nurse who was much too slow, on top of having an intercom system that was broken so I couldn’t communicate easily with staff), I actually admit the experience at the hospital for the childbirth was better than any hospital experience I had with any kid. The only thing that sucked this time around was the kosher food situation. Kosher food is never a priority at these hospitals, especially one in a city that is not the Jewish center of the world. So the food sucked. Bigtime. Whereas your last meal at the hospital is fancy filet mignon and a fancy lobster for the non-kosher foodies, we were lucky if we could put together a salad, ice cream, a steak, and a bowl of cereal. For a romantic dinner. (Yeah, the kosher version was whatever was on the menu which by then I had already had much of and it was only day 1.5. Oh, and the meal referenced was not kosher. You don’t eat meat and have ice cream for dessert. But that’s what they did there because the food was certified kosher.)
Now that we’re a family of six and have had 3 weeks to adjust to that, I’m enjoying my baby. I’m also enjoying the help I am having. I’m working full time x2 without maternity leave (my choice, bearing in mind being hired for a job right before you have a baby means you need to put your best foot forward), which puts this whole thing in denial for me moreso than ever. But when I see the kid, I really enjoy him, and he’s doing amazingly well so far. He turned over from belly to back at 2 weeks of age, holds his head up nicely, and best of all, HE LOOKS LIKE ME. 🙂
(But he has Brian’s blood type. That’s 3 kids with Brian’s blood type and one with mine. Hi Alana! <3)
He’s beautiful and I’m glad you got that experience in many ways. Also, lobster and steak? I delivered at the wrong hospital. 😀