Wednesday, 29. April 2009
Your Beginning 10:52:36 PMCategory : Baby Mamma
Location : Chicago
I was just talking to my dear husband the other night about how new mothers never really get to process the whole birth experience. One minute you are pregnant, the next minute (or 19 hours in my case) you are caring for a newborn and your whole world has shifted off its axis. Somewhere in there, you went through this hugely intense experience. But, by the time you have left the delivery room and are holding your new baby in your arms, the memory of it all is already starting to fade. And it occurred to me, in the midst of this pondering, that having a record of the actual experience someplace (minus 99/9% of the gore) might be useful one day. I remember asking my mother tons of questions about my birth and getting few answers. Time has a way of doing that to ones memory. And so, mostly for my myself, but also for you, my dear Amelia, in case you ever want to know: The story of your birth,
It was a cold March morning. We were getting ready for work just like we did every day back then. Going about the motions. Then, just as I stepped out of the shower, I felt a trickle of water down my leg (or so I thought). But then I realized that it was actually warm. And then it dawned on me. I stumbled downstairs to the smell of fresh coffee and tentatively said, "uh, honey, I think my water just broke." And then came the gush. And then we were certain. We took our time calling the doctor and getting to the hospital. We made sure to eat and shower and do all things necessary around the house. The whole experience was strangely calm. Not at all how either of us had pictured it-we would remark on this fact numerous times to each other as we prepped for the hospital. Our plans to labor through the early part at home vanished as we were instructed to go straight to the hospital. We arrived, and then things got scary for a while.
You hadn't dropped like they thought you had. They weren't sure you were in the right position. They were afraid you might not fit through the birth canal. We were bombared with these detials like the onset of a hurricane. We were terrified.I spent the next seven hours confined to bed. praying, and watching movies to keep my mind off things. I was in little pain at this point as things were going slow. I was told I had until 7pm to go into active labor on my own or I would be induced. That number haunted me like a nightmare during those first hours as we were so hoping for a natural and drug free birth. Eventually, we were allowed to walk the halls. Your father was the most fabulous labor coach. I could not have done it without him.
I went into active labor finally around 3pm, The pain was a welcome feeling at this point. I was toughing it out. 7pm came and went and I didn't even give it a thought. Your back was turned to my back. This is called back labor. It was beyond painful, but I just kept talking to you and focusing on the task at hand. Toughing it out on contraction at a time. Each wave of pain gave me new found strength I never thought I had. Fast forward to 8pm or so.
I am told at this point that labor needs to be augmented with the dreaded pitocin. You just were not ready to come out quite yet and the doctors were getting frustrated. Your father and I were angry. We fought the doctor and said we did not want the medicine. Eventually, we lost that battle. Fast forward to 11:15pm or so...
The pain is so intense now I can barely breathe. I am told that I have not progressed at all in the last half hour. I finally realize that I can no longer do this on my own. I am at my breaking point and I know. I literally cannot bear the pain any longer and still remember to breathe. I beg for anesthesia. It cannot come fast enough.
11:40pm-I am rolled onto my back, the medication already taking the edge off the pain. For some reason, I take note of the time on the wall. This time, 11:40pm, will become imprinted on my memory, like a postage stamp from a foreign country you've never visited but always dream of. It becomes one of the few things I remember vividly. And somehow, thinking about it, always conjures the experience of your birth in my mind with crystal clarity.
We spend the next two hours or so watching "There's something About Mary". I remember only half focusing, as I shivered from the medication, and grew more and more excited to finally meet you face to face. I felt, at this point, like I was in heaven and had just left hell. An interesting paradox that did not escape me.
1:40am-I am told to push. It comes easily now. I am chatting with the doctor, with your father, with your Grandma. It is hard work, but nothing compared to earlier. I take note of the fact that you just really wanted to be born on Wednesday, and that is what you were waiting for all this time. Or was it the lucky 11? Who knows. Your birth is calm, serene, and beautiful. The room is still and quiet as you make your entrance into this world. You are beautiful. Your father cuts the cord. We all stare at you in wonder,
2:03am-You are born. I am relieved, but no sooner are you placed on my stomach for me to hold, then you are whisked away to the NICU because you inhaled too much fluid on your way out. We are frightened and trying to keeo our spirits up. I am missing you terribly. The brief moment after your birth feels like a tease.
3:03am-I am wheeled to the NICU to see you. We are not allowed to stay. I cry all the way to our room. I am crushed to have to leave you.
6:30am-You are FINALLY, finally delivered to us with a clean bill of health (Thank you God). We bask in your beauty and the miracle that is you. And our life begins again. We are somehow the same and yet totally different. I marvel at the fact that in such a short time I can no longer remember what life was like without you in it.
We finally got our miracle.
It was a cold March morning. We were getting ready for work just like we did every day back then. Going about the motions. Then, just as I stepped out of the shower, I felt a trickle of water down my leg (or so I thought). But then I realized that it was actually warm. And then it dawned on me. I stumbled downstairs to the smell of fresh coffee and tentatively said, "uh, honey, I think my water just broke." And then came the gush. And then we were certain. We took our time calling the doctor and getting to the hospital. We made sure to eat and shower and do all things necessary around the house. The whole experience was strangely calm. Not at all how either of us had pictured it-we would remark on this fact numerous times to each other as we prepped for the hospital. Our plans to labor through the early part at home vanished as we were instructed to go straight to the hospital. We arrived, and then things got scary for a while.
You hadn't dropped like they thought you had. They weren't sure you were in the right position. They were afraid you might not fit through the birth canal. We were bombared with these detials like the onset of a hurricane. We were terrified.I spent the next seven hours confined to bed. praying, and watching movies to keep my mind off things. I was in little pain at this point as things were going slow. I was told I had until 7pm to go into active labor on my own or I would be induced. That number haunted me like a nightmare during those first hours as we were so hoping for a natural and drug free birth. Eventually, we were allowed to walk the halls. Your father was the most fabulous labor coach. I could not have done it without him.
I went into active labor finally around 3pm, The pain was a welcome feeling at this point. I was toughing it out. 7pm came and went and I didn't even give it a thought. Your back was turned to my back. This is called back labor. It was beyond painful, but I just kept talking to you and focusing on the task at hand. Toughing it out on contraction at a time. Each wave of pain gave me new found strength I never thought I had. Fast forward to 8pm or so.
I am told at this point that labor needs to be augmented with the dreaded pitocin. You just were not ready to come out quite yet and the doctors were getting frustrated. Your father and I were angry. We fought the doctor and said we did not want the medicine. Eventually, we lost that battle. Fast forward to 11:15pm or so...
The pain is so intense now I can barely breathe. I am told that I have not progressed at all in the last half hour. I finally realize that I can no longer do this on my own. I am at my breaking point and I know. I literally cannot bear the pain any longer and still remember to breathe. I beg for anesthesia. It cannot come fast enough.
11:40pm-I am rolled onto my back, the medication already taking the edge off the pain. For some reason, I take note of the time on the wall. This time, 11:40pm, will become imprinted on my memory, like a postage stamp from a foreign country you've never visited but always dream of. It becomes one of the few things I remember vividly. And somehow, thinking about it, always conjures the experience of your birth in my mind with crystal clarity.
We spend the next two hours or so watching "There's something About Mary". I remember only half focusing, as I shivered from the medication, and grew more and more excited to finally meet you face to face. I felt, at this point, like I was in heaven and had just left hell. An interesting paradox that did not escape me.
1:40am-I am told to push. It comes easily now. I am chatting with the doctor, with your father, with your Grandma. It is hard work, but nothing compared to earlier. I take note of the fact that you just really wanted to be born on Wednesday, and that is what you were waiting for all this time. Or was it the lucky 11? Who knows. Your birth is calm, serene, and beautiful. The room is still and quiet as you make your entrance into this world. You are beautiful. Your father cuts the cord. We all stare at you in wonder,
2:03am-You are born. I am relieved, but no sooner are you placed on my stomach for me to hold, then you are whisked away to the NICU because you inhaled too much fluid on your way out. We are frightened and trying to keeo our spirits up. I am missing you terribly. The brief moment after your birth feels like a tease.
3:03am-I am wheeled to the NICU to see you. We are not allowed to stay. I cry all the way to our room. I am crushed to have to leave you.
6:30am-You are FINALLY, finally delivered to us with a clean bill of health (Thank you God). We bask in your beauty and the miracle that is you. And our life begins again. We are somehow the same and yet totally different. I marvel at the fact that in such a short time I can no longer remember what life was like without you in it.
We finally got our miracle.
Comments :
1. charlie Zimmerman05/12/2009 07:58:32 PM
great story pauline. i loved reading it.
