And now we are five.
Before I begin, I am on a cocktail of percocet and motrin thanks to needing surgery to get a baby out of me. I’m going to liken the whole experience to the claw machine you see in an arcade or supermarket. The aftermath in a female human is gory and yucky, however, whereas the machine stays unharmed.
In any event, after pretty much the most difficult pregnancy (for me) out there, from the enormous weight gain to the difficulty being mobile to the pains of internal stretching and eventually the kicks in the very wrong direction (bonus: the great fun of having to reach a sink’s faucet), I am happy to welcome my adorable little princess to the world. You have been much awaited.
The little princess came four weeks early, though if you ask others, she was 3.5 weeks early. We had conflicting due dates at the same doctor’s office of either November 24 or 27. Frankly, I was adhering to my own due date of November 23.
So why, like her big brother, did she arrive so early? The answer: hell if I know. But here’s the story surrounding that.
October 30 began like any other day. Well, bearing in mind I was mostly immobile from September 17 onward, it was a little busier than usual. David had “Shabbat Abba” at school and we were invited to make a snack for the children as well as to do a chesed project of designing lunch bags for children in Israel. We were in school for a little over an hour and a half, probably, after all was said and done. I ended up chatting with David’s teacher as well on the playground as David and Sarah played together on the bikes and in the sandbox.
I then headed over to buy Shabbos food at the local takeout place. I ran into a lady from the gym who commented to me “now I know why you aren’t going to the gym anymore!” Yup. Exactly. She asked my due date and I said three weeks. Based on the above information, I sort of lied.
Anyhow.
I went home and prepared for my weekly OB/GYN visit which was scheduled for 1:45. When they saw me in the doctor’s office, she did an internal exam to see if I was dilated.
Apparently I was. This was the first time and I was at 3cm. I had started asking my OB/GYN to do the internal exams after a scare on September 19 that sent me to triage as I felt rapid contractions that were somewhat painful around 30 weeks. I thought that was really early labor. It wasn’t.
I had been getting those same exact contractions for weeks and figured I’d just ignore them. That earlier triage visit was nothing, so these contractions were also nothing, right?
At 3cm, knowing myself, I made the recommendation that they hook me up to a monitoring machine to see if I had real contractions. I seem to not feel real contractions and then feel the fake ones. After 20 minutes or so, one of the nurses dismissed the output on the contractions monitor as being nothing, but the doctor disagreed. She saw that I was clearly having contractions and thought we should do something about it.
One big problem: The baby was breech. She had always been upside down with her head right on the top left side of my belly. That’s why her kicks [in my hoo-ha] were so uncomfortable. I actually had called the doctor earlier that week to confirm the breech and get the baby turned sooner rather than later, but she didn’t think anything of it and wanted me to wait at least a week. I had a sonogram scheduled for today, actually, with a planned appointment to turn the baby tomorrow. That clearly never happened.
So the doctor told me to go to triage and get the baby turned. Fine. I had to get David who was coming home from school first, and then I needed to figure out where the kids would stay after we went to the hospital. By then, it was 3pm and Brian was preparing to leave.
After 5pm, Brian arrived at home and we prepped the kids to stay with a friend and neighbor. I started feeling my regular contractions again. They were just as powerful as they were before, but perhaps a small notch more so. We arrived at triage at around 6:30. They took my info down and asked me my pain threshold on a scale from 1 to 10 (where 1 was no pain and 10 was agony). I told her “1,” but warned her that doesn’t mean anything. Then she left the room. At first, they didn’t know what to do with me so I got to take photos of the Ebola scare flyers posted in a gazillion languages all over the hospital. I also sat in a brown chair while they deliberated and came to tell me that they were going to see what’s next. I think they didn’t know how to turn the baby or why I was even in the hospital for something as ridiculous as turning a baby, given it wasn’t an emergency and I wasn’t in labor as far as they were concerned.
Eventually, although the main hospital computer system was down and they couldn’t even electronically input my info (which I hope means I won’t get a bill from the hospital), they took me into triage. It was shorter than last time. I think I got in there around 7:20. (I waited three hours for a triage bed to become available when I went in September.) They immediately put me on the machine and got it started.
About 10 minutes in, an OB triage doctor came to do that internal exam again. She was annoying in that she spent a long time in there and I didn’t like it one bit. When she finally came out, she had the decency to tell me I was 7cm dilated.
All of the sudden, the little area behind the curtain filled up with nursing staff and doctors who finally took me seriously. They were pretty much like “holy crap, we can’t turn the baby, and we need to operate on you right now to get that baby out.”
I’m sure many of them were thinking, “how did she not feel contractions to get her 7cm dilated?” Yeah, I wish I could tell you, ladies.
I was put on an IV, which was the best IV ever and I give the nurse a lot of credit, and wheeled into the OR. They started doing their deed of giving me that modified epidural on my spine. I always hate that. They then went around the room and introduced themselves to me in such an organized fashion. I had to ask if there was some sort of recording device. (There wasn’t.) I made jokes the whole time. They told me they appreciated it and acknowledged that their shift was more fun as a result.
Toward the end of them cutting me open, one of the doctors was getting off her shift. She asked me whether the baby was a boy or girl. I told her she’d have to stay awhile longer if she wanted to go find out.
At 8:42 PM, our little 6 lb 6 oz pitzel was pulled out of me. She had lower Apgar numbers (7/8/9) because they said she was “stunned.” From what I understand, she wasn’t breathing right away.
But right now, I can tell you that little baby has a hell of a set of lungs.
Fortunately, everything else for her seemed to have been smooth sailing. For me, not so much. I am constantly reminded how I have this super high tolerance for pain as 1) I didn’t seem to notice pretty serious contractions (but I did… for 6 weeks!) 2) I seem to be recovering from a c-section better than others would. That doesn’t mean I don’t find it at all not painful. It hurts and I look like I went through the wringer.
But that is okay. I have a beautiful little person in my life and I would do it again in a heartbeat.
TL;DR: I was at a regular OB/GYN appointment and she found out I was 3cm dilated. The baby was breech so she said I should go to the hospital to turn it. By then, I was 7cm dilated so they all had to expedite a c-section. They were worried a foot would come out of me. And I recommend reading the longer version as it is funny.