{Editorial comment...today is 8/10/16 and G is 15 weeks and 5 days old. This post has taken me f-o-r-e-v-e-r to start, write, and finish! Such is life now..."projects" take a little longer than they might have previously. While I wish I would've gotten this all out a bit sooner so that I could recall each detail most accurately, many of the memories are still fresh in my brain so this is likely pretty true-to-history. Also...I expect maybe 1 person to ever actually read this (Clint?!) other than me. Ultimately I have been forcing myself to get this written because I know that I will love going back to read it someday (probably many times, knowing me). Anyway...proceed at your own risk...It's gonna be a looooooong one!!}
...
I've been a mama for twelve weeks.
Sometimes I still don't quite believe the words but, yes, I AM mama. This role, this honor, is now truly one of the most prized aspects of my identity...it's certainly not ALL of me, but it is MUCH of me. I wouldn't have it any other way.
I've read many, many "mommy-blog" posts over the past few months, mostly during late-night feedings during those early days and weeks. One in particular stands out in my mind. The author writes a "goodbye" post to her former self, the "pre-child" version of herself that has now welcomed a child into the world. Her post really resonated with me...saying goodbye to my child-free self was certainly a bit bittersweet (Goodbye, ability to quickly run errands! Goodbye, pre-baby body! Goodbye, consistently sleeping through the night! Goodbye, ability to luxuriously read or write without interruptions on a quiet morning. Goodbye, freedom to focus on just one thing at a time because, let's face it, this little being is never NOT on my mind!). However, I would gladly give up so much more than all of that to have him in our world.
I've made myself a number of to-do lists over the course of my maternity leave and, frankly, I've been pretty productive. One of the yet-to-be-checked-off items is this post. I haven't gotten *everything* done that I've hoped to but, nonetheless, I've gotten a lot accomplished. That feels good.
Not on my "list", but still notable - I've managed to grow a 17+lb beast of a boy with my own body! Craziness. I marvel at this daily.
So, one important "task" I had assigned to myself was writing a blog post detailing Gabe's birth story. I want to recall as many details as I can about one of the biggest events of my life. But...for one reason or another...I didn't force myself to start writing right away. I don't know, maybe snuggling my sweet boy or simply staring at his perfect face has always trumped writing.
Today, though, finally I'm getting the words started. I know that someday I will be thankful that "past me" took the time to make a record of these things. I love going back and reading old posts. I cherish the records I've kept of some of my big life-events.
Today is Thursday, July 14 and Gabriel Wells has been in the world for eighty three entire days. Today we are at the pool together, currently he is nursing *under a cover* as we listen to the children play and splash and shriek (an aside...I 100% support mothers' right to breastfeed wherever is convenient, however I am personally not one to do so without covering up...I just feel uncomfortable.).
Every few minutes I close my eyes and just drink in these moments. I never want to forget them. The weight of his head in the crook of my arm as he eats. The long, long curly lashes (from his Daddy!) that frame his now-contentedly-closed eyes that I see when I peek under the cover at him. Speaking of, one of the light brown lashes toward the outer edge of his right eye is longer than the others and it's just so darn cute.
Every few minutes I close my eyes and just drink in these moments. I never want to forget them. The weight of his head in the crook of my arm as he eats. The long, long curly lashes (from his Daddy!) that frame his now-contentedly-closed eyes that I see when I peek under the cover at him. Speaking of, one of the light brown lashes toward the outer edge of his right eye is longer than the others and it's just so darn cute.
EVERYTHING is just so darn cute.
Yeah...I'm THAT mom.
{Me...under the cover at the pool. I've learned to be "cool" with nursing in a variety of places these past few months. I will say I don't always feel "cool"...I'm pretty self conscious about it. But, I'm committed to breast feeding G as long as I'm able and that means taking care of business in public at times. This has included the pool, Clint's workplace, the backseat of the (parked!) car, parks, races, restaurants...}
I remember our first real pool-venture a few weeks back. Our friend Jillian invited me to join their family and another family at a local pool's morning "toddler time." While bringing an infant to a pool may seem crazy to some, I'm glad we made the effort to do so a few times this summer. Gabe seems to truly enjoy the water and it feels good to my new-mama-soul to participate in some "normal-kid" summer routines with my tiny man.
A picture of Gabe at the pool (8.5 weeks old) ...first a little nap before checking things out.
Here's one from a few weeks before that (7 weeks old)...we visited the pool in my sister's neighborhood with my nieces. Gabe spent most of the time like this...and his first experience with the water included Mama dipping his toes in while he was still sleeping, resulting in predictable screams. Whoops. Hey...I wanted him to feel the water before we left ;-).
Ok, back to the point of this post ~
So...let's see. How do you begin to write the story of a day that forever changed the course of your life? Cliche, but I guess the same way you start any other story...with one word. And then another.
On Wednesday, April 20 I had my 38-week appointment. Our awesome nurse-midwife Beth checked "the status of things" and informed me that I was *almost* two centimeters dilated and 75% effaced. Everything looked good and she and the doctor both said they'd see me the following week at my next appointment scheduled for Wednesday the 27th. My doctor also chatted with me about the fact that many first babies go about a week over-due and that I should mentally prepare myself to go 41 weeks.
While I was so, so eager to meet our little man...I also was really totally fine with waiting {within reason;-)}. I had "scheduled" my maternity leave to start the following Monday (April 25) and planned to use that week (my due date was the 29th) to get some final baby preparations completed. Plus, I had made a variety of other appointments for that week including one to tend to a recall on our SUV. Yeah, I'm not Type A at all.
Best laid plans, right?
After my appointment, I went back to work. I actually had a pretty busy work day and worked with some really active kiddos. I got home around 6:30 and was excited to have a package in our mailbox: the new LuLaRoe shirt I had ordered from a Facebook party my nurse-midwife Beth had a few weeks back had arrived! I tried it on right away because I'm just that excited-dorky ;-)...and even snapped a really hot bathroom selfie to text to my friend Brooke who is also a LuLaRoe afficianado.
About a half hour or so later, Clint arrived home. He had gone to a happy hour after work, so he arrived a bit later than usual. As soon as he got home, he began preparing his dinner (typical, he's usually starving when he gets home) of roasted veggies. I stood in the "living room" area of our tiny cave/apartment and chatted with him as he stood at the stove. This day had marked the end of the training period at his new job. At the end of the work day, his "team" had gathered and his boss had asked for comments/questions, etc. Clint shared with the group (joking), "I just hope my wife goes into labor tonight so I don't have to come back tomorrow!" Oh, Clint...
At about 7:20, as we stood there talking, I felt a warm and strange gushing sensation between my legs. I very-distractedly stopped talking for a moment as I took in the possibility of what could've just happened. I said, laughing in a combination of excitement and terror, "Clint either I just peed my pants or my water broke and I don't think I peed my pants!"
I'm not sure if he replied, because I immediately ran to our tiny bathroom and sat down on the toilet as fluid literally rushed out of my body {pregnancy, labor, delivery...all of it is sooo glamorous!! I suppose I should've opened this post with a warning...proceed at your own risk!}. I vividly recall sitting there on the toilet in stunned amazement and thinking to myself, "this can't be happening, I'm not READY!"
I'm not ready I'm not ready I'm not ready, "But I'm not READY!" I recall telling Clint as I came out of the bathroom after getting somewhat "cleaned up." We both laughed and I'm sure the shocked look I saw on his face mirrored that on my own. He told me I should probably call the doctor...
I quickly called our doctor on my cell phone while standing carefully in the one place in our tiny apartment that received adequate signal and let him know what had occurred. I could hear the smile on his voice as he said, "well pack your bags and I will see you soon!"
We had *mostly* packed our bags weeks prior. I should say, Clint packed his long before I did and the only reason mine ever got packed is because he kept insisting that I get it done. Why did I drag my feet? Some sort of weird denial I guess. Anyway, we both had a bag in the back of our SUV where they had been for a few weeks. However, this didn't stop us from grabbing a few more random items (what, exactly...who knows...we brought wayyy too much stuff!) to toss into the car before heading out on our way to the hospital.
I texted my nurse-midwife to see if it was ok for me to eat (I had just made some quinoa mac and cheese for my dinner and was starrrrrving!) and she told me to go ahead and eat it...so I brought my big bowl of cheesy goodness with me in the car. *Fun fact - this "last supper" was somewhat reminiscent of the mac and cheese my good friend Jillian had eaten as her last meal before the arrival of her first child, also a son*
While I had my dinner, Clint wasn't quite so lucky. As I recall, he ate some broccoli in the car but left his roasting sweet potato in the oven (which he switched off as we hurried out the door). I felt sorry for him at the time, but looking back I guess I don't need to ;-)...he got to eat regularly over the next few days while I wasn't so lucky.
We dumped some food and water out for our cats (who were predictably weirded out by our rushing around), grabbed our things (including many towels for me to sit on!) and were out the door in less than 15 minutes after my water broke. Clint took the wheel and I settled in for the drive to Peoria (30-60 minutes from our home, depending upon who is driving ;-)). As he drove, I started a frenzy of texting and calling. I emailed my employers and did my best to "manage" my speech kiddos' schedules for the next two days as we sped down 74. I still remember feeling as if it was all some sort of dream and we were just "playing" as I started out the window at our familiar Illinois cornfields and windmills.
Thankfully we didn't get slowed down in Morton (the area is in a state of perpetual construction!) and before long we were in the parking garage at OSF St. Francis. Clint managed to find a parking spot mere steps from the hospital entrance. I commented as we parked that it all seemed very deja-vu-like, as I had parked in that very garage hours before when I arrived for my appointment!
When I stepped out of the vehicle, I experienced another huge gush of liquid. This made me practically keel over in laughter, due to both amusement and embarrassment. I had oh-so-wisely chosen to wear a long black maxi skirt (paired with the new top mentioned previously ;-)) because, in my head, it would be less "messy" than pants if/when more "water" came out. Ha!!!!
News flash...that skirt became one very soggy mass of fabric hanging on to my lower extremities. I commented to Clint that I really wanted to walk to labor and delivery, but that there wasn't really any way that I felt like I COULD walk (because every time I took a step more fluid came rushing out and I didn't want to coat the hospital hallways in that crap!).
So...Clint hurried into the hospital corridor to grab an extra-wide wheelchair. We put a towel down on the seat (as if it mattered...it was soaked within seconds!) and I climbed in. Clint loaded our many bags on and around me in the wheelchair and we set off on our grand trek to find the labor and delivery unit.
An aside...my nurse-midwife Beth had asked me that very morning if I wanted a tour of the labor and delivery area and I had said no thanks. So...we really had no idea where we were going. Whoops. Thankfully there are many people at the hospital stationed around to guide people like us on their way!
I remember laughing a lot as Clint wheeled me through the hallways of the vast hospital. It all still seemed so wild and surreal. I wasn't having any contractions at all (that I could detect anyway) yet, however we still felt a certain sense of urgency over the whole situation. I mean, when a woman's water breaks in the movies the baby pops out shortly thereafter right?! Turns out, that's not exactly how things typically happen in real life.
When we arrived in the labor and delivery area, our first step was to check in. Turns out our good doctor had already called and let them know we were coming so we didn't have to do much. I did have to climb out of my wheelchair and step onto a scale, resulting in dousing the floor in more of my generously flowing amniotic fluid. Sorry
Another aside...in one of our childbirth classes, the instructor informed us that about two cups of liquid would come out when our water broke. This was NOT our experience. Two cups?! Maybe two gallons!! Turns out I had excessive amniotic fluid. Who knew?!
After being weighed (I'm not sure what the exact weight was at that point, but I know had gained a total of FIFTY big pounds over the course of my pregnancy as I weighed myself most mornings...in reality some of it was the excessive fluid), they wheeled me to a triage room. They had me change into a hospital gown and hooked me up to some monitors to see what was going on contraction-wise. The first gown I tried to put on was somehow broken and Clint and I had a good ol' time laughing at it as I kept trying to figure out how to make it work. We finally just gave up after realizing there was something wrong with it and snatched a new one off of a neighboring bed.
Once I was hooked up to the monitors they let me know that I was indeed having contractions even though I wasn't feeling them. At this point I recall looking up at the clock directly across from my bed. The time was 8:20 which was exactly one hour from the time that my water broke. Talk about efficiency! I applaud Clint for this.
They told me I would be in the triage area until a room was ready for me. My doctor came to visit and chat with me for a bit and let me know that if I had the baby overnight, my nurse midwife would deliver the baby and if I had the baby the next morning he would deliver the baby. It all sounded fine to me...I was just eager to meet the little guy! It honestly wasn't even on my mental radar that it might be a very lo-o-ong time {over a day and a half!} until we actually met him.
After a bit, we were told we would be taken to our room. We got all set up and they hooked me up to some wireless monitors to keep tabs on my contractions. I had started feeling them but they weren't very regular or intense. It became clear that things were not going to happen quickly.
I had to get some antibiotics through an IV because I had tested positive a few weeks prior for Strep B. When I had found out that I had Strep B and would have to have antibiotics I got really worked up over it. I did NOT want a whole bunch of antibiotics in my and my baby's body! Well, come on now Rachel. You don't want your baby to have some sort of awful complication due to Strep B exposure now do you?! The antibiotics had to be re-administered every few hours (three hours I think, I honestly can't remember exactly and neither can Clint) prior to delivery which means I ended up getting many doses! It isn't pleasant to think about the massive amount of antibiotics pumped through us during the long period of time that I was in labor, but alls well that ends well I guess!
While I was on the wireless monitors, we were able (and encouraged!) to walk around. This was fine and dandy with us! We walked what felt like a bazillion laps around the small loop of hallway that went by the rooms and around the nurses' station. I lamented that I hadn't worn my Garmin...tracking the steps/distance could've been entertaining!
Things began to intensify and I had to stop walking in the middle of the hallway a few times to concentrate on breathing through the discomfort of the contractions. I remember trying to walk strategically faster or slower during our loops past the nurses' station so that when a contraction hit I would be in a part of the hallway where no one could see the grimaces on my face (as if they hadn't seen that before!). We walked what felt like a few miles (who knows what the distance actually was ;-)), with a few rest breaks laying down back in the room in between walking sessions.
At some point, my primary nurse told me that they needed me to lie down in my bed with wired monitors. The wireless monitors weren't transmitting signals well and they needed to have more consistent and accurate feedback of the baby's heart rate and my contractions. This was disappointing (laying in bed felt like a jail!) but I complied.
Also...late that first night the decision was made to start me on pitocin to try to get my contractions to intensify and to become more regular. It had become clear that my body wasn't going to move things along on its own and at this point it had been a number of hours since my water had broken and there had been no real measurable progress toward labor. I wasn't thrilled to have to start this drug, but I also understood that hanging out indefinitely with the baby in a potentially unsterile environment (since my water had broken) for a long period of time wasn't the best idea. So... I was hooked up to a pitocin drip, started at a "1" (the lowest "level"). Spoiler alert - by the end of the process, my level was like a 26 or something. Apparently going above 20 isn't common.
They brought a cot into the room so that Clint would have a place to rest. The cot was initially set up a few feet away from the foot of my bed. At some point, we both laid down in our respective beds to try to catch some zzzzzs. It had become apparent that Baby G wasn't making his appearance any time soon. Every so often, my nurse would pop back in and increase my pitocin another "notch" through the IV. Each time she did so, my contractions painfully intensified and increased in frequency for a short period of time ... enough to make us hopeful that progress was being made ... only to have them back off once again.
Ugh.
Sometime in the middle of that first night, I was awoken to a frightening commotion. My nurse, along with at least four other medical professionals, rushed into the room. I heard monitors beeping wildly and suddenly felt someone putting a mask over my face while I was quickly rolled onto my side. They instructed me to take deep breaths from the mask which I had by that point realized was an oxygen mask.
Clint woke up and immediately hurried to my left side and asked what was going on. It felt like an eternity before they filled us in on what had occurred. Basically G's heart rate had dropped very low and they had to change my position to hopefully change his position and get his heart rate back up. Yikes.
This was really upsetting and scary in the moment. I was honestly pretty mad that I felt like I wasn't being informed about what was going on as it was happening. Looking back, I know that they needed to act quickly and carefully. However, I still wish that someone would've talked me through it as it was all going on. I don't think I will ever forget the feeling of quiet panic I experienced as I concentrated on keeping my body still and gulping big facefuls of cold plastic-tasting air from the mask. But, alls well that ends well I guess!
After that "excitement" died down, I believe we dozed off again for a bit. I know I didn't get much in the way of real "sleep" seeing as nurses were in every few hours to take my vitals and to check my dilation (which never really progressed much...rather frustrating to say the least!). I also had to have a new IV of antibiotics because of my Strep B every few hours {and that IV sure burned!! I'm not proud ;-)...but I definitely whined a lot to poor Clint about the burning IV} in addition to my IV of pitocin.
The next morning we were exhausted. I did my best to stay positive and, after we chatted with our doctor, I encouraged Clint to go grab coffee and breakfast for himself from two of our favorite local-to-Peoria places: thirty-thirty Coffee and One World. The doctor said it would likely be quite a while before Baby Wells joined us and, in my opinion, there was no point in both of us being hungry/hangry!
So, off he went...in search of caffeine and calories. I laid around in my bed (couldn't really go far if I got up...bathroom...rocking chair...birthing ball) and sent text updates to the many people who were wondering where the heck baby Wells was! Seeing as I had let a bunch of people know that my water broke and we headed to the hospital the previous night, there were a good number of curious/anxious individuals wondering when our little guy would show the world his face!
Soon Clint was back, singing the tales of delicious, delicious almond milk lattes (he had two) and a tofu scramble. He snuck me in a gluten free monster cookie from One World (one of my faves!), even though I wasn't supposed to be eating. I'll be honest...I snuck a bite right away and a few more bites throughout the day. Right, wrong or otherwise, I knew there was no way I was going to have the energy (mentally or physically!) to birth a baby without at least a few calories. I was "allowed" to have clear liquids. Apple juice "counted" as a clear liquid...I drank probably 8-10 small, round cartons of ice-cold apple juice from the refreshment room over the course of that day. I also had two strawberry Clif fruit "ropes" over the course of the day. They tasted like heaven, let me tell you what.
Thursday nights, Clint has been leading group runs with friends and area runners for the past few years. He sent a message to the group putting someone else in charge since it was clear he would be needed elsewhere that evening. I sent a picture to the group of the computer screen with my contractions shown that afternoon and told them their "prescribed workout" was intervals at the rate of my contractions ;-).
I became more discouraged as the day wore on and there was still little indication that I'd be having a baby any time soon. For some reason, my body was just taking its sweet time ejecting that little guy! I did my best to keep smiling and to stay positive throughout the pain and impatience, but in the middle of that second night I went to some pretty dark places.
At some point that second night (after being checked for what felt like the billionth time and STILL lingering at 6 darn centimeters dilated), Beth visited us to check on me and suggested that I take a shower to relax. They wrapped my right arm in plastic wrap and tape to keep my IVs as dry as possible. Clint helped me to the shower and helped remove my super sexy hospital gown. Long story short, he had to stand outside of the tiny shower stall and help me shower. Pregnancy and labor is indeed humbling, I tell you what. That absolute saint of a man has seen his wife in some interesting scenarios for site now (things they never warn you about before you get married and/or pregnant).
Late late Thursday night (night two), my kind and compassionate nurse (I believe her name was Sue...she was truly fabulous) came in to check me for another time. After, once again, noting minimal progress and lots of pain she asked me how I felt about pain management options.
We had written a "birth plan" that included natural pain management techniques (breathing exercises, etc.) and wanted to try to avoid an epidural. I was pretty confident in that decision and felt like I could endure a lot of pain without drugs. However, I had also made peace with myself regarding the fact that I had never given birth before (ha!) and therefore couldn't possibly have any idea of what it was going to feel like and how much I would be able to "take." I had talked to Clint about the fact that if things got really bad I would get an epidural and that would be fine with me (I wouldn't get down on myself for "failing" or anything like that).
So, Sue asked if I wanted an epidural sometime Thursday night. I told her I still really didn't. She then brought up another option of a drug that could be given through my IV. It wasn't as "powerful" as the drugs given through an epidural and it would wear off prior to actually pushing him out. However, it could take the "edge" off the contractions.
While I still wasn't crazy about the idea of drugs, the fact was that I had been in labor for ~28 hours at this point. Baby Wells wasn't really making progress in his journey to enter into the world because my body wasn't really allowing him to. I was in a lot of pain. At this point, I had far over-run my "goal" of birthing this baby in less time than it took me to finish my Ironman triathlon (14 hours and 35 minutes!)...HA! I decided to give the IV drugs a whirl.
After I made that decision, they quickly got things started. Shortly after dripping the drugs into my body, I was greeted by sweet {temporary} relief. I still felt the contractions, but they were nowhere near as painful. And...in between contractions (my contractions still weren't regular, so the intervals between contentions ranged from 2-5 minutes) I actually passed out.
The next few hours were marked by odd cycles of pain/breathing through contractions while gripping Clint's hand or arm and then sleep for a few minutes before the next contraction hit. The first round of the IV drug worked for a little under an hour. I received a second round, which was a little less effective. After that one wore off they told me I could have one more round but that was it. Apparently this drug becomes less effective with each subsequent dose.
After the third round (which was only minimally helpful), I was still in pain...and still very pregnant. I was exhausted...discouraged...scared...frustrated...all of this and more.
Around 3 am, Sue sat down next to my bed and chatted with me again about receiving an epidural. Frankly, maybe even more so than the thought of drugs flowing through my baby, I was terrified by the mere thought of having a needle pushed into my spine. Terrified. But, as Sue explained, my body -for whatever reason- just wouldn't relax. Each time they checked me the past few hours, I was stuck at 6 centimeters dilated. She said that perhaps once I got an epidural, my body would relax and I would dilate more.
At this point it had been 30+ hours since my water had broken and almost as many hours of pain without much relief.
Even though I could finally admit that I needed some relief, I told Clint he had to decide for me because I ...just. couldn't.
He quickly and confidently said he was done seeing me in that much pain and I would be getting the epidural.
I've been thankful for Clint the entire time I've known him, but in that moment my gratefulness for him and his guidance and wisdom and strength was multiplied. I really couldn't do it...all of it...on my own. {Two really IS so much better than one}
So, Sue called the anesthesiologist who came up to my room to explain the procedure to us. I did my best to fight back the tears (not so successfully) as I hung on to every word they said. Unfortunately, Clint wouldn't be allowed in the room when she placed the epidural. This REALLY bothered me (and I know it bothered Clint as well), but Sue assured me she would be with me the entire time. Sue...you're a saint.
The anesthesiologist was a very confident (almost cocky ;-)) woman who talked me through the procedure before getting all set up and ready to rock. They turned on some extra-bright overhead lights (I can still vividly remember the brightness and heat of the lights) and washed my back (so cold!).
I was instructed to sit cross-legged on the right-hand side of my hospital bed, facing out and slightly hunched over. Sue sat in front of me and gave me her hands to squeeze. Sue, I'm so sorry for any damage I caused to your hands. I know I squeezed the crap out of them!!
Sue kept me focused on her voice and hands the entire time. The anesthesiologist let me know that she would be administering the local numbing shot first. It stung a little, of course, but was no big deal. As the numbing agents began do quickly their thing, she prepared the epidural. As she started pushing the needle into my spine, I felt pressure but no pain...and lots of anxiety. Visions of paralysis danced through my head. I took deep breaths, squeezed Sue's hands and concentrated on her voice talking me through the process. After what I felt like was longer than necessary ("isn't this DONE yet?!"), the anesthesiologist said, "well crap" (or something along those lines).
News flash - no one wants to hear the person stabbing them in the spine with a large tool exclaim anything along those lines.
I recall retorting, "oh crap?! Don't say that when you have a needle in my spine! What's wrong?!"
She quickly told that basically my vertebra were closer together than what is "typical" (I have no idea if this is a good or a bad thing by the way) and she was having difficult getting past one particular vertebra (she couldn't turn the catheter like she needed to and therefore was having difficulty placing it all the way in) and therefore would have to take it out and start over. Oh, and my back might be more sore than "usual" tomorrow because of the repeated "bumping" of my vertebra.
Whatever, lady. Just get it done. Do what you gotta do, but no more exclamatory outbursts. Keep that crap to yourself.
Before long, the procedure was done...they plopped me back down in my oh-so-familiar bed and brought Clint back in. A gloriously disconcerting numbness had already begun to take over my lower extremities. It was one of the most bizarre sensations of my entire life. I "played" around with my legs (I'm such a child ;-))...trying with all my might to bend my knees and finally moving my heavy-heavy legs with my arms.
After all of that "excitement," we got a few hours of sleep (maybe 2?). Shortly after 6 am, they came to check me again. This process now included sticking a catheter in me to empty my bladder since I couldn't feel anything to get up and pee. While getting a catheter really grossed me out, I really couldn't feel a thing so I just kinda pretended it wasn't happening.
Sue let us know that I was now dilated to a 7 (finally past 6....I hung out for HOURS at darn 6! I never want to hear that number again!) and that things would *hopefully* keep progressing so I could finally get to a 10 and start pushing within a few hours (!!!!).
I know Clint and I knew he wanted (needed!;-)) some good coffee, so I told him to go to thirty-thirty again (not far down the road from the hospital) to get some coffee. Sue agreed with me,
saying he'd have plenty of time. I requested an iced {decaf} mocha to stick in the fridge to enjoy post-delivery ;-).
So, off he went in search of caffeiney-goodness. I rested quietly a bit, alone in the room. I remember reflecting on what was to come. It still hadn't quite sunk in, what was happening in our world. The past two days had been an absolute whirlwind of nurses and doctors and texts and phone calls and IVs and tears and discomfort and anticipation. And...I was finally truly just hours away from holding our baby boy on that very day - Friday, April 22, 2016 at exactly 39 weeks gestation.
Clint returned, my sugary cold coffee drink in hand. Sue placed it safely in the fridge in the nurses' station for me.
A little after 8 am, Sue checked me again and informed us of the glorious news that I was FINALLY 10 centimeters dilated! She quickly called our doctor and the rest of the team who would be assisting and my room became a flurry of activity as everyone laid out the many shiny and kinda scary-looking tools (?!) and other items needed.
Our doctor arrived with a big smile on his face and readied himself at the foot of my bed. He discussed with me what would be happening next. With the epidural, I was not able to feel my contractions (which still, interestingly, were reportedly not happening at as regular intervals
as they should be). So, they would tell me when a contraction was happening. As each contraction happened, I was supposed to push down with all my might as I held my breath and counted "one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand"...take a deep breath...and count one more time before relaxing. As I pushed/counted, Clint (on my left) and Sue (on my right) would be pushing back on my raised legs to help provide some counter-force.
After a few "practice" rounds, we were ready for the main event....it was a bit before 8:45am. Doctor Leonardi informed me that he was sure I would have a baby in my arms by noon. "Here's hopin', buddy," I remember thinking :-).
I remember watching the clock every now and then and wondering just how long I would be pushing. It was challenging, certainly, but not nearly as hard as muscling through contractions in the middle of the previous night was. Clint entertained himself by watching my heart rate go up on one of the monitors every time I pushed. Later he informed me that after watching that performance, he was certain I would be able to work much harder during runs than I had in the past and accused me of slacking off in the past. Whatever, sir.
Around 10:15 or so, they informed me that they could see his head. Though I really didn't need the confirmation ;-), they wheeled over a big mirror to show me. I'll never forget THAT sight. It was a combination of amazing and disturbing. The doctor also told me I should reach down and touch his little head...this both freaked me out and intrigued me, so I did. The first time I touched my little guy...I touched his fuzzy head just prior to his birth. Crazy.
And then...things got real. The pushing intensified and the emotions got heavier. Suddenly, I felt him sliding out of me and in a frenzy of movements he was immediately placed on my chest as I reached out for him and grabbed on to his not-as-slippery-as-it-looked body. I kissed his head, touched his ears and looked down at that perfect face that somehow looked nothing like I had pictured it and better than anything I had ever imagined at the same time.
Time. It was 10:34 am, just over 39 hours since my water had broken and labor began. The 39 longest hours of our lives.
"What's his name, what's his name?" we were asked excitedly. Clint told me I had to say it, but I could barely get the word out. After a few tries, I said his name:
"Gabriel."
(#loveatfirstsight)
Gabriel. YOU, my sweet sweet son, you are worth it. Every single moment of my life, every misstep and every triumph. Every hour of labor. Every single thing that led me to this moment is so very worth it and I would do it all again to arrive at this very same place. Here. With you. With our family.
(#wearefamily)
After he was born, we took turns snuggling him for a while. It's true...when people say they fall in love all over again seeing their significant other with their baby...yes indeed. After a bit over an hour or so, Clint accompanied him to the nursery where he helped with his first diaper and bath. Meanwhile, I was taken to a room to begin my recovery process.
Due to high census in the hospital, I spent the first hour in my bed in a hallway ...thankfully my mom had just arrived and was able to keep me company. We were moved into a room that was a double room that we were sharing with some less-than-wonderful roommates. A curtain separated our two halves of the room, but nothing could block out their voices (lots of classy cussing, mostly about having to share a room).
After very little sleep and all of the emotion that goes along with birthing a baby, this was not a great situation to be in. It was very tight quarters, not exactly conducive to having visitors who were eager to see the baby or to relaxing/recovering. I was pretty stressed and expressed this to a number of people, including the nurse assigned to me in that area.
Our first visitors while we were in our tiny quarters included my sister and mom, Clint's parents, and Jillian, her daughter Nadya and our nurse-midwife Beth. It was so good to have some distractions...and to share our brand-new, sweet boy with some of our best people.
Soon after initially arriving in the tiny room, I was lying in the bed and my mom and sister were seated in chairs at the foot of my bed. Clint was still with the nurses and Gabe in the nursery. My sister looked at me and said in a dry voice, "so I guess I'm going to need that maternity clothes I gave you back!" Yup, that meant what it sounds like...she shared with us that she was expecting her third sweet baby! Wild...and awesome news! {She is now 22 weeks along and we know that it's a BOY!}
Thankfully, we were moved to a private room after a few hours. That room became our home for the next two days. Due to the fact that Gabe was born more than 24 hours after my water had broken and had therefore been in an "unsterile" environment for quite some time, we had to stay in the hospital with him for a day longer than we would have otherwise.
While we weren't too excited about having to stay in the hospital all day and night on Saturday, we had lots of great visitors to help pass the time. Clint ran home in the morning to clean up the apartment a bit since we had left in such a frenzied hurry (and to remove his dinner from the oven...HA!) and went for a much-needed run. While he was gone, my good friend Jennifer Blackorboy stopped by. Later, my sister and her family came as well as my parents. Our good friend Tanya also came by (bearing a beautiful blanket she made our little man!).
We had a fabulous, very helpful nurse both nights after Gabe's birth named Kelli who was yet another God-send. She was kind, patient and great at anticipating my needs (and kept the ice-diapers comin'! I went through countless ice-diapers. If you don't know what these are used for, you probably don't want to ask ;)}. Regardless of the great nurses and staff, though, there's nothing like being in your own space. Needless to say, when we were finally discharged on Sunday morning, April 24, we were all too eager to get HOME (after spending four total nights in the hospital)!
The past nearly-sixteen weeks with our little man have been incredible. There have certainly been some high highs and low lows (breastfeeding is no walk in the park, I tell you what!), but all in all it has been a journey that Clint and I are both so grateful for and wouldn't trade for anything else. There's so much joy radiating from our little boy. Parenthood, and all of its lessons - ready or not, here it is!
~GABRIEL~
4/22/2016
10:34 am
8 pounds and 9.9 ounces
20.75 inches
~So very loved~
{Hopefully at some point I get around to writing the race reports for the four races I've completed this summer "post-baby"! Stay tuned!}
{Hopefully at some point I get around to writing the race reports for the four races I've completed this summer "post-baby"! Stay tuned!}
