I was terrified at the thought of trying to take care of a newborn while I was so broken; newborns are so hard anyway, and to START OUT so weak? Not looking good. One of the thoughts that would torment me throughout my waking hours was that I was so damaged that I would not be able to love this baby once he was born, but I remembered hearing the story of another woman who had had a similar experience, and, once the baby was born, she HAD been able to love her baby, so I clung desperately to that hope.
Through so much of this pregnancy, I had felt as though something like the Dementors from Harry Potter were trying to suck the life out of me, and, many times, I felt like they were winning; the feeling was so relentless and I was so weak from fighting for so long.
When I found out what this baby's due date was, January 30th, I was a little concerned because Husband has two family birthdays on January 29th, and I didn't want our baby to be born on that day. I didn't worry about this too much during most of the pregnancy because the others had all been born well before their due dates, but as the month of January wore on, I did start to worry. By the time the 28th rolled around and I WAS STILL PREGNANT, I decided that I just wanted the baby to wait until February 1st because
I’d been having contractions for a couple hours every night for about THREE WEEKS. They were slowly getting stronger. Friday, the 29th, I had just had it, and I didn’t feel good, so I had Husband stay home from work. I took a nap after lunch, and something woke me up.....I finally realized that it had been a CONTRACTION that woke me up because it had hurt, and I kept having contractions every 10 minutes or so for the next couple hours. I figured they would stop like all of the other contractions
It really was a lovely epidural——I could wiggle my toes and move my legs, and I could feel the contractions, although I no longer felt like my body was going to implode------it was great! The baby’s heart rate dropped a few times, which immediately brought the nurses to my room wielding an oxygen mask for me, but we still had to wait around for the doctor (some random person——of course one of MY doctors was sick and the other chose to leave for the weekend, even though the nurse had called him while he was still at the office at 4pm) to come. What made waiting for the doctor even more frustrating was that I had a LOVELY nurse who had been a midwife in her previous country, and I would have PREFERRED to have HER deliver the baby, but she said the hospital insurance got mad when she did that, so EVEN THOUGH I WAS READY TO PUSH AND MY BABY'S HEART RATE KEPT DROPPING WITH EACH CONTRACTION, we had to wait for the doctor.
When the doctor FINALLY showed up, the nurse told him the baby was coming, but he disregarded that information, and he checked me and asked me push a little. Note: he did this BEFORE he suited up. When I pushed a little, LIKE HE ASKED ME TO, some bodily fluid (not sure which one; I'll just assume it was amniotic fluid) squirted all over him, and the next time I looked at him, he was over in the corner, with an irritated look on his face, wiping his shoes off. (This ended up being especially satisfying because one of my friends had gone to this doctor for one of her pregnancies, and she ended up not liking him. She was very pleased when I gave her the labor run-down later.)
|7:39 p.m.: 9 POUNDS, 22 1/2 INCHES LONG!|
|I love this baby!!! And it didn't even take a few |
Along with the nausea going away as soon as the baby came out, that feeling of something evil trying to suck the life out of me also went away. It was a big relief to feel like the jaws of Hell were no longer gaping wide after me, but I felt weary and battle-scarred, and could only hope that I would recover and regain my strength again someday. Not the best situation to be in as one enters the post-partum stage, but at least I no longer felt like I was under attack.