It all began Saturday morning while we were driving to the Fairfax mall. I may have noticed that I had a couple contractions and not mentioned them to Craig. We did our shopping-- I actually found what I needed, so that was fantastic, considering I am NOT a good shopper!-- and headed back home. A couple more contractions then, which I did tell Craig about. He surprised me by staying very calm about it all, and suggested we go for a walk once we were home (and after lunch). We did this. I'm not really sure if the walk helped or not-- I had painless but walk-stopping contractions for the entire walk. What are those all about, anyway? I also got really annoyed with my jeans, which would not stay pulled up over my tummy the way I like them to. Really, am I that big? (Turns out I was...)
We got home, and I took a nap. Eventually we had dinner (gotta love Thanksgiving leftovers!!!) and decided to go with our original plan for the evening, which was to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I had contractions all throughout it-- 2 just during the previews!-- but it was a good movie to keep my mind off the discomfort and to keep me from worrying too much. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, despite the early labor!
Craig and I returned home and decided we should time the contractions for a bit. (He asked me if I'd been timing them during the movie, and I told him "No way." That's a terrible way to enjoy a movie!!!) They were averaging 6 or 7 minutes apart. So now we were stuck. I figured my options were to either head to the hospital knowing we were going way too early, or stay home and stress Craig out. The idea that we might have to go to the hospital once I was truly in pain didn't thrill me. I remember wondering how in the world I was going to survive sitting seatbelted into a car during contractions when I had Kendra, and still didn't relish the idea. So we decided it was best just to leave then. It was midnight.
On the phone with the nurse before leaving for the hospitalChecking into the hospital, the nurse put me in triage first. I was dilated to a four by this time, which was a little disappointing, since I'd already been at a 3 at my last doctor's appointment. The nurse confirmed that I was indeed having contractions. Yes, thank you very much for that. And I was admitted.
And that's when my battle with the medical staff began.
In October, Craig and I had toured the hospital, and I was thrilled with all the hospital's policies for labor and delivery. It all turned out to be wrong. I think I was just working with difficult doctors, but I ended up having to fight for everything I wanted during my labor. It was disappointing, but I did manage to get my way, even if it was at the cost of ticking off my doctors. I won't be seeing them again, anyway, so I guess that's not a huge price to pay.
The first fight was over putting in an IV lock. This basically just means that they have a tube in my veins on the off-chance that I need an IV later. This seems like a silly thing to fight over, but after I had Kendra a nurse stuck an IV in my wrist and the stupid thing hurt every time I tried to hold my baby! They left it in for an entire day, despite my complaints, so I really was hoping to avoid that again. The "discussion" over the lock went something like this (but over the course of an hour):
Me: I would really rather not have the IV lock. You could put it in later if it's necessary.
Nurse: Well, you can refuse anything, but the doctor really wants you to have one.
Me: Well, can we wait a few hours at least?
Nurse: You'll have to talk to the doctor about that. She's not in, but I guess I can page her...
Doctor (after an hour-long lecture at two in the morning on everything that might possibly go wrong during labor): So, that's why we'll be putting in the IV lock. We can put it in your arm if you're worried about your wrist movements bothering you.
Me: Um.
(Nurse sticks tubes into my arm)
After this, I realized I was going to have to be a little tougher. And I was.
There also seemed to be mixed signals about what exactly I was supposed to be doing once I got all checked in. While we were still in triage, I had mentioned that I would really like to get some sleep before heavy labor kicked in. This seemed like a good idea to me, since it was about one in the morning. The nurse seemed to think I was being silly and suggested instead that I walk the hallways to get things going. I didn't necessarily disagree with her, I just thought sleeping first seemed like a better idea. But then she went ahead and attached a fetal heart rate monitor (to just be referred to as The Monitor from here on out) to me, which made it nearly impossible to get out of bed. But while I laid in bed trying to sleep, she kept bursting in every twenty minutes to ask me when I wanted to get up and walk around, and assuring me that if I wanted to do that, she could take the monitor off the next time she came back. So I couldn't really sleep, but I couldn't exactly get walking, either. I was so confused.
Facetiming with my sister and her husband while I'm being monitoredAlso, they insisted on monitoring me five out of twenty minutes. I'd been told on the tour that hospital policy was twenty minutes out of an hour, and my biggest plan for labor was to take a long hot shower. It seemed silly to get in the shower for just fifteen minutes, and I wasn't really sure what to make of that.
Eventually, I asked the nurse to just take the monitor off right then and I'd go walking, and she seemed okay with it. I walked for a little, first with Craig and then with Tracy (my sister, who had agreed to come and help out at the hospital).
Getting some water while I walk. Dang, I look huge!At some point during all this, I think around 6:00am, while I was back on The Monitor and trying once again to sleep, the doctor came in to check me. She happily announced that if I hadn't made any progress yet, she was going to break my water. I told her that I'd rather not have my water broken, to which she said, "Well, then, we'll send you home!"
Given my history, this statement shocked me. They would send me home when I was clearly someone who had fast labors? Can you think of a worse idea?
In hindsight, I think this was just the doctor's way of trying to force my hand, which actually makes me more angry. She explained to me that "most labors don't progress unless augmented." And that "this is the reason the rate of c-sections has been dropping." These two statements may be some of the stupidest things I have ever heard from a professional in their field. If labors didn't progress unless augmented, how has the human race survived for so long? And is she not aware that the rate of c-sections is still climbing in America?
Fortunately for me, I had dilated to a 6 by now, so the subject of breaking my water was dropped. Perhaps even more fortunately, this doctor's shift was about to end. I was not sorry to see her go. The next doctor was one I had seen a couple times at my own medical center, so I was hopeful that she would be willing to work with me more. She was a little better.
In the meantime, we turned on a movie-- About a Boy, one of my favorites!-- and I strolled around the room while Tracy and Craig watched, glancing at me nervously every now and then. You really do feel like something of a time bomb when you're pregnant, but even more so once when you're in labor! Some time during the movie, my contractions began to get genuinely painful. I couldn't talk during them any more, I just had to pause the conversation while I leaned against something and rocked back and forth willing the pain to go away. Eventually the movie got to be annoying rather than distracting, so we switched to music.
(I know, I know-- you've all been dying to hear what music I ended up listening to, haven't you?)
I surprised myself by starting out with Glee. Halfway through the first song, however, the nurse made me lay down so she could monitor me and a hard contraction hit. And that was the end of Glee. I just couldn't handle something as peppy as "Jump!" and try to ignore the pain at the same time. We switched to classical music.
The new doctor came on her shift and disappointed me right away by also insisting that I be monitored five out of twenty minutes. What this meant was that the nurse hooked me up to The Monitor and assured me she'd be right back, and then disappeared for twenty-five minutes. I finally called her and asked if I could have the monitor taken off, so she came back, looked at it, declared the results unsatisfactory, and said I'd need to keep wearing it for a while. Apparently Ryder's heartrate was too steady, and they wanted times when it accelerated for a bit. I'd been bouncing on my birthing ball at this point in time, but the nurse said I ought to lay on my side. So I did. And it was really hard to do. So I called her again after a few minutes and asked if maybe this time I could get off the monitor. She agreed, and I hurried into the shower before she could change her mind.
Finally, I was in control.
The shower was exactly what I needed. My Dad and I have agreed that a good, long, hot shower can fix a lot of problems, and apparently contractions are included in that category! Just for good measure, I had Craig bring the speakers into the bathroom, too, while I sat pouring hot water over me. Whenever a contraction hit I would rock on my hands and knees while Craig held the sprayer over my back and shoulders. Then I would get back up, shake it off, and chat with Craig until I could feel another one coming.
I don't know if this nurse was nicer than the first one, or if she could just see how much the shower was helping me, but she let me stay in longer by using a hand-held Doppler to check the baby's heartbeat once more. I don't think she ever got a super clear reading (she tried to check during a contraction, and I was having trouble standing still for her), but she smiled and said, "Good enough for me!" and let me get back to my business.
After about a half hour in the shower, I was starting to feel done for. That's when I began muttering things like, "I don't think I can ever have any more kids" and "I just might need an epidural after all. This is so hard." I couldn't get through the contractions without moaning and whimpering in pain. It was really awful. My only hope was that usually this is a pretty good indication that you're nearly done and about to move into the pushing stage. But I was frightened that this wouldn't be the case and that maybe I still had hours of this kind of pain ahead of me.
Even the shower wasn't helping any more, so I moved to the toilet. (For those of you who haven't given birth, I know this sounds pretty weird, but it's actually a fairly normal thing to do.) I sat on the toilet for one contraction and then my water broke with a big splash and I immediately moved to pushing. And it hurt. And I became frantic. I screamed to Craig that I was pushing, and he ran out into the hallway and yelled for someone to come because I was pushing. Tracy came in and wrapped a towel around my shoulders and Craig came back and helped me move to the bed.
I knelt on the bed-- this is what I did with Kendra, and it worked well-- and began pushing, and the nurses came running, screaming that I couldn't push until the doctor came and that I needed to lie on my back. Between pushes, I told them that I did NOT need to lie on my back and if the doctor wasn't coming that wasn't my problem. Craig told them that I'd given birth on my knees before and it worked just fine, and they clucked around me telling me they'd never delivered a baby like that and hollering about where was the doctor.
The doctor finally showed up, and she too insisted that I lay down. She said she couldn't see something properly unless I was on my back, but I kept refusing so she finally told me to at least lay down on my side. It turns out that it is really hard to move at that stage in the game. I finally made it to my side, at which point the doctor basically flipped my one leg over so I was effectively on my back just as I pushed Ryder's head out. He was blue, so the doctor told me to hurry and push again. I did, and he was out!
All done. Phew! (And I love the "I just got out of the shower wet hair" look. Awesome!)
Aunt Tracy holds Ryder while I get patched upIt took us a while to settle on a name. We had other names we'd been considering, too, but in the end, we both agreed that he just looked like a Ryder. So Lucky is now Ryder Philip Smith. I think I said it already, but he has wonderfully soft blonde hair that is so light it's hard to see. I love it. And I love stroking his head, it's so soft. At 9 lbs. 1 oz., he was quite a bit bigger than Bentley and Kendra (who were both about 8 lbs 5 oz), so I guess that's why it hurt so much pushing him out. I don't remember that much pain with Kendra at all. I guess that's one of the downsides to having a baby right after Thanksgiving!
Bentley and Kendra have gotten to visit me in the hospital and they enjoy holding their new brother. I'm sure they'll be less thrilled with him once he's home and they see how much of my time he takes up, but for now I'm just glad that they love him.
Bentley and Kendra are excited to see Mommy again (one of the really fun things about being a mommy!)
They're a little more apprehensive about this little bundle in my arms (especially Kendra)
Bentley loves holding his new brother
Grandma and Grandpa have been wonderful about watching our kids and bringing them to me for visits!I already can't imagine life without my sweet little Ryder.
