The next morning, M returned to the hospital bright and early, and we were transferred to the delivery suite, where we set up, asked if I was allowed to eat some breakfast, and listened to Jay and the Dr on JJJ while we waited for the Dr to show up to break my waters. At around 8.30 the Dr shows up, and attempts to do just that. She fails. There is much talk between her and the midwives about what to do, wether to keep administering gels, keep me in over the weekend and try again to break the waters on Monday. At this point, I begin to freak out a little. I'm having flashbacks to when I was induced with Brannwen and it took three days because of a screw up in the induction meds, and I am thinking the same thing will happen. As a last ditch effort, they decide to go get another Dr to see if this other Dr has any luck breaking my waters, as she has more experience. At 9am on the dot, less than 5 minutes after the second Dr entered the room, my waters are broken. The syntocin drip is set up, and we are ready to rock and roll. My relief is immense, despite the realisation at that point, that given the fetal monitor, syntocin drip, and glucose drip *just in case*, I am effectively tethered to the bed, and my desire to be able to move around, and more specifically in and out of the shower, is simply not going to happen.
I start having contractions.. just little ones. Intense, but no worries really. Fiona, my midwife, comes in for some chit chat here and there, to see how we are going, and to take blood sugar levels. Everything is going along nicely, with me listening to some tunes on the radio, M reading the paper and occasionally reading bits out, and the drip set to 60. We are coasting nicely. At around 11 am, Fiona comes in to see how we are doing, and turns the drip up to 80. This increases the frequency and intensity but nothing too stressful to begin with. By 11.30, I am having some difficulty with this, and I quote, 'Being on the bed shit', so enlist Fiona and M to help me move to a chair next to the bed which I promptly sit in backwards, leaning forward onto it's back rest. Fiona decides to stay and have her hand on my belly to monitor contractions, as the fetal monitor is slipping all over the place, and it is not registering my contractions even though they are most definitely there. At 12 I decide a little gas is in order - partly because it hurts, but partly because, well it's there, and dammit I love the stuff and would be mighty pissed off if I didnt get the chance to use it. No worries, Fiona sets it up for me, gives me the mask, and while I'm here, what the hey, we might as well increase the drip to 120.
And that's when we hit a 9 on my pain scale.
Between 12pm and 1pm the intensity was upped alot, I was feeling dizzy, out of control and totally fucked up. I could feel my whole body shaking uncontrollably even though I wasn't cold, and if anyone even considered taking that gas mask away from me they were going to die. In hindsight, we know now my BSL's were dangerously low at that point, which explains alot. This is also the first point where the baby's heart rate started to drop a little with every contraction. Fiona asked me if I wanted an epidural and we decided to check dilation first, because I was warned it was likely too late - contractions were about 90 seconds long and right on top of one another. The Dr came in to check me and told me I was 3cm dilated. I can't quite remember what I said at that point, but I think it included alot of F's.
The anaesthesiest was called, and en epidural set up. It took 3 goes, and well over 45 minutes to get it in. It hurt like fucking hell - I can honestly say in my case, the epidural hurt more than the birth, but again in hindsight, can see that with the sort of scar tissue I have in my back, that was always going to be the case. Finally, by 2.30, it was in and I had some relief. For an hour.
By 3.30, the pain was off the charts again, the epidural was doing nothing, I could feel every damn thing, it simply wasnt working. I was feeling very pissed off at that point that the epidural had actually worked for roughly the same amount of time as it took to get it in. A Dr was called to see if they could get it working again, and when he arrives at 3.45 ( I am a clock watcher, can you tell? ~L~) he states there is very little point in fixing the epi, as I am fully dilated. All systems go.
From that point on is a blur really. I remember that I didn't feel the pain as much, because all of a sudden it felt like pushing gave me some relief from the pain. I remember throwing up at one point and being so relieved that that food was out of me. However, finding out I was fully dilated, was also the same time they discovered my blood sugar levels were dangeroulsy low and started the glucose drip - so perhaps that accounts also for feeling more in control and aware all of a sudden. By this point, the baby's heart rate was dropping quite a bit with each contraction, and we were all starting to get worried about it, so the fact that he would be out soon was a great relief. At any rate, the midwives told me at one point they could see hair. I was shocked at that, as I had assumed my baby, like most my neices and nephews, would be a baldy baby. A couple of seconds later, they told me to stop pushing. Which I did. A couple of seconds after that they told me again to stop pushing, to which I replied that I wasn't. It was about to be all over, red rover - Ronan had decided to make his entrance with or without my help. Like being shot out of a cannon, he made his entrance into the world at precisely 4.30 on the dot.
As he was born, there was total silence from all the medical staff in the room. Someone said, * that diabetes must of been well controlled.. he's tiny*.. at that point I realised there was no crying to be heard and began to freak out. They showed him to me for all of three seconds, his tiny body and face completely blue, and a big dark pair of eyes looking up at me, before they whisked him away. It was under a minute, but it seems like ages before I heard the tiniest of little cries, and they told me they were taking him to the special care nursery, but would bring him back. They also told me the umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck, which explained why his heart rate kept dropping. M went with him to the nursery, and I lay there, wondering what the fuck just happenned, and wondering how *tiny* he really was.
5 lbs 9 oz was the answer. I was stitched up, (2nd degree tear), and he was brought back from the nursery for a feed, then returned into their care. M and I had something to eat, I had a shower, and we went down to the SCN to have a look at our boy, and make sure he was okay. The whole experience seems kinda blissful now, looking back on it, compared to how hard the next few days turned out to be. All in all, birth was a breeze, compared to seeing him with a drip in his tiny leg, having his blood sugar levels taken every couple of hours, expressing constantly to get enough to feed him, and not knowing what was going on with him. There was one night where a nurse told me I wasn't allowed to touch him. I still don't know why she said that. All I know is, some of the midwives were great. And some needed to be condemned to the bowels of the earth from whence they came. The best advice I received was from my SIL's mum when she said "Stuff 'em. Do what works for you". So we did. Once he was out of SCN and keeping his own blood sugar levels stable, we discharged ourselves, and went home. We haven't looked back since. In the end, it was all worth it, all of those four years of pain, everytime he farts and smiles about it. My boy is four weeks old now, and while it seems I had him only yesterday, life without him seems like it was eons ago.
And now... to the list of things I have learned through childbirth and the first four weeks of parenting.
*It is possible to vomit out your nose, and it is indeed entirely normal. (I had no idea of this phenomenon previously, obviously, as my husband pointed out, I have not drank enough. Hard to believe.)
*New scientific theory - the grosser the liquid - ie - poo, the further it can travel. Up backs, down legs, up arms, and indeed, halfway across a room at high velocity.
*Formula is NOT cyanide, though some people will tell you it is pretty much the equivalent of.
*Much like a 12 year old boy, I find anything related to farts and poo, hysterically funny.
*Your nipples CAN develop cracks so deep, the tips of them can almost seem near to sheared off.
*That said, when you have cracked, grazed, bleeding and sore nipples - going out in the cold night air can bring a whole new world of pain you never dreamed possible.
*Still on boobs - going for 8 hours without expressing breastmilk or feeding on the same night that your milk comes in properly, again opens a whole new world of pain, and looking at yourself in the mirror crying because not only do you now look like a porn star and in agony - you look like a B GRADE porn star.
*Having your bed less than three feet from the wall is a bad idea, because at one point you will get out of bed, so tired, you will slam into it headfirst.
*Screaming at an anaesthesiest that the pain you feel is "a small scratch my fucking arse!" while they are trying to administer an epidural does not partiuclarly endear you to them.
and lastly, a quick plug... The best thing, top of my list, that I have bought for the babe is a sling / wrap. When all else fails with the screaming and the reflux and the wind, this thing works. I bought mine from a lady in Melbourne who makes them - similar in style to another well known brand I won't mention, but way better because of the stretchier fabric and a much better three piece design which is way easier to get on and maneuvre about with. I feel the need to plug her product because it can be difficult to find in stores, and it is like I said, the best thing I bought. If you want one, or want to have a look go to www.elliebelly.com.au
Peace, out, back soon.
