Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I Don't Remember Talking About Pitocin in Lamaze Class: Labor and Delivery #1

I woke my husband to tell him the happy news and we called the hospital.  I don't remember what they said because I was too busy thanking my lucky stars that this pregnancy was almost over!  We went to the hospital within about 2 hours of my water breaking (I SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME LONGER!), and I wasn't having regular contractions (although I was dilated to 3cm).  They made me stay in the bed since my water had broken (that was their procedure for avoiding a prolapsed cord).  *I* was thinking that if the baby's head was not allowing any more fluid to come out that there wasn't much chance the cord was getting through and that gravity might be helpful in this situation, but their solution was Pitocin.  I figured that they had my best interest at heart (WHY would I think that?!), and was still so excited about the thought of NOT BEING PREGNANT anymore and getting to hold my new baby that I didn't argue.  They gave me a lot of Pitocin VERY QUICKLY, and, within minutes, I was having really intense contractions that were right on top of each other;  I would have 3 or 4 right in a row with no break!  My poor friend whose hand I was squeezing was afraid I was going to break her hand.  I thought I was going to die in the HOUR AND A HALF before the anesthesiologist showed up.  I could have KISSED HIS FEET once that epidural took effect!  This was at around 6:30am, and by 10am, I was ready to start pushing. 

The doctor (the only one from the practice that I didn't like, of course) came in when I started pushing and then disappeared....for THREE HOURS.  The baby crowned after 20 minutes but WOULD NOT COME OUT, and the doctor was nowhere to be found (seriously, there was not another doctor in the whole hospital?!).  I pushed for 2 1/2 hours longer trying to get that baby out, and not half-hearted tentative pushes, but GET THIS BABY OUT SO I DON'T HAVE TO BE PREGNANT ANYMORE pushes.  (Let me just mention here that trying for 2 1/2 HOURS to push out a baby who is stuck makes for some VERY UNHAPPY lady parts in the weeks to follow!)  When the j*ck*ss doctor FINALLY came back, he used forceps and the baby came right out, all 8 POUNDS 8 OUNCES and 21 INCHES of him (Thank Heaven he was 2 1/2 weeks early!).  Oh, and he did have LOTS of hair on his pointy cone-head (apparently being stuck is NO FUN for the baby either), just as the ultrasound tech had said. 

Baby was purple (and VERY MAD) so he was quickly whisked off.  I was VERY PISSED a little irritated that after all of my suffering and hard work, I was the LAST person in the room to get to hold him.  But someone FINALLY handed him to me, and I thought, "Hey, wait a minute;  where's my tiny newborn?  This baby looks about 2 months old!" and then I thought, "I have waited for you for so long, and I know I just watched you come out of my body, but you don't look at all familiar..."  I waited for that magical moment when I would look into the baby's eyes and have that immediate, overpowering feeling of love and bonding that I had heard so much, not so much.  I did soon love him and bond with him, but it wasn't that IMMEDIATE thing I'd heard so much about (Thing that made me think I might be a bad mother #1).

I spent the next hour snuggling and sniffing and marvelling over MY PRECIOUS NEW BABY!!!  And when the nurse came in and said it was their policy to take the baby to the nursery after an hour, I was too stupid inexperienced to argue with her.  So they took the baby BEFORE I HAD NURSED HIM.

Edited to add:  Right after they took the baby, someone came to move me to another room and told me to HOP in the wheelchair.  I COULD BARELY MOVE.  The epidural had worn off and my body was letting me no in NO UNCERTAIN TERMS that it was NOT HAPPY with the treatment it had received the previous few hours.

Needless to say, by the time they returned him to me he was quite ready to settle in for a nice, long nap, and I spent the rest of the day trying desperately to get him to wake up and eat.  He WAS NOT INTERESTED in waking up, and soon the nurses started telling me that if I couldn't get him to eat they were going to have to start an IV because his blood sugar was low (Thing that made me think I might be a bad mother #2).  I was eventually able to wake him up a little, but he seemed to be having trouble latching on (Thing that made me think I might be a bad mother #3).  Different nurses and the lactation consultant came and tried to help, but this seemed to only make him more mad (did I mention that he just generally seemed REALLY PISSED?).  NOBODY EVER CHECKED THE BABY'S MOUTH.  (About 9 months later he yawned at a doctor's appointment, and the nurse said, "Wow!  His frenulum (thing under his tongue) is really tight;  does he have trouble eating?"  I wanted to WEEP thinking about the THREE MONTHS of nursing AGONY I had endured...)

In between trying to wake the baby up to eat, I would look at his precious baby face and wait for his name to pop into my head because that is what everybody had said would happen, right?!  No luck.  The day before we had to leave the hospital, my husband went home and got the baby name book.  We searched and searched and finally found a name we liked, that also had a meaning we liked.  For blogging purposes, I will call him "Ian".


Anonymous said...

Wow, this whole story stresses me out! So many frustrating things!!! I sure hope some of your subsequent births went a little better. :)

Doing My Best said...

Keep reading and you'll find out =)!