(This is going to be lengthy, so if you'd like to jump ship now you have my blessing)
Everyone who has ever had more than one child will tell you that every pregnancy is different...and they are certainly correct on that front. Yet, for some reason, the dynamics of that statement failed to register with my brain for the entirety of my second pregnancy. Sure, certain things were different, but I chalked that up to the 6.5 year age gap in between children. Many things were actually very similar: I gained only 4 more pounds with Finn than I had with Jonah, my feet and hands never became swollen, my skin improved, my same stretch marks returned (but no more). However, there were additional issues with Finn's pregnancy that I could have done without. Hemorrhoids, seriously; there is NO reason for those to occur. Your ass is not supposed to have petals! The digestive issues and associated irritants were definitely the worst parts of that pregnancy in opposition to the 7 months of nausea and sickness that I experienced during Jonah's pregnancy. I guess my body just has serious issues dealing with both food and babies at the same time. Putting all of these factors aside, the most different parts of my pregnancies were, by far and large, labor and delivery. And this is how labor and delivery went with Jonah:
On Monday, October 6th, 2008, I worked a normal shift at the store and headed home around 8:30pm. By this point in my pregnancy I was quickly approaching 38 weeks and feeling every second of it. My doctor assured me that we were in the clear area for healthy babies by this point, so I was trying a few methods to coax my bundle of joy into the birthing position; namely, I was moving heavy things around.
When I got home after work, I immediately made myself an entire box of Kraft Mac N' Cheese (it was my first pregnancy kryptonite) and ate the entire thing while watching a rerun of The First 48. I noticed some slight cramping in my lower back but chalked it up to my body's way of preparing for birth in the next couple of weeks. Those first few mild contractions lulled me into a false sense of security. So, I brushed my teeth and went to bed. I had a doctor's appointment the next morning anyway, plus I was only dilated to a 2 from my last appointment. I was not concerned.
Around 2:00 that morning, I woke up to pee (as per usual) and found my cramping to have gotten stronger and more uncomfortable (security was beginning to fade away). I laid back down and tossed around in an attempt to get comfortable, which is a rarity at 38 weeks for anyone. Found a comfortable position. Tried to focus on anything but my aching back, which was starting to wrap around my belly at this point. Heard a pop. Thought I'd peed in the bed. Checked the clock: 2:16.
LOST MY SHIT COMPLETELY.
I knew from the months of prep and reading The Devil's Guide to Freaking Yourself Out During Pregnancy (also known as What to Expect When You're Expecting) that this was it. This baby was coming out and I could not do anything about it. I waddled to the bathroom and checked myself with litmus paper to ensure that this was amniotic fluid and not a false alarm (it wasn't). So, we grabbed our things and headed to the hospital.
During the 45 minute drive to the hospital, my contractions increased with such frequency that I just knew I was going to die during this process. In my general defense, I was 23 and had no clue about babies, birthing, or motherhood (and previous to the surprise of Jonah, I had no desire to ever learn about it). We stopped to get gas and, I swear to you, it was the longest 5 minutes of my entire existence.
By the time we reached the hospital, I was dilated to a 4 and showing no signs of slowing. It was around 4:00 by this point and I was ready to be done with the labor part. It must have been a combination of both my sincere panic and age, but I was so concerned with what the nurses and doctors were doing to me, I almost forgot that I was having a baby.
They hooked me up to the monitors and set my IV (I was NOT a trooper for the IV shunt; it was not my finest hour). Nonetheless, the nurses assured me that I would appreciate that IV later on if I needed some pain relief as I had opted for no epidural during the delivery. The rest of it was kind of hazy. Many contractions, lots of grunting, IV meds, permanent fixation during the crux of contractions on the call desk number posted on the wall (4216, if you were curious). I asked for a bit of IV meds at around 6:30 and was able to relax a little between contractions.
The nurses told me around 6:45 that it was time to push. The funny thing is, I don't remember having the urge to push. I was always told that your body would tell you if it was time to push and my body was hurting, but it was definitely not telling me that it was push time. I wanted to wait until my doctor came on, so we held off until 7:00.
My doctor came in right on time and that's when the legit trauma began. He kept telling me to push, although I was pushing as hard as I (thought that I) could. After a few strains where nothing happened, he decided to use the vacuum suction to pull Jonah down into the birth canal. Now, let me tell you, the pain of the vacuum suction made the contractions feel like a deep tissue massage. The suctioning itself doesn't hurt necessarily; it's the insertion that is terribly uncomfortable. If you need an analogy, it's akin to shoving an oil funnel into your vagina (without lubrication). Also, they catheterized me. Shut the front door.
The vaccum suction apparently worked. The doctor told me to push as he was pulling and I did my best, but I couldn't feel Jonah move down. I think that your body goes into a type of shock when you're under that amount of terror, pain, and general trauma. I just remember thinking 'what if he pulls off Jonah's head?', 'what if he does permanent brain damage?'. The actual journey of Jonah emerging from my body was surprisingly serene. It seems like I pushed about three times before the pressure let up; I don't really remember. The next thing I knew, I had a baby on my chest and the doctor was apparently sewing a quilt in the spot where my vagina once existed(Jonah decided to make his opening a little larger as he came into the world; it was glorious). And that was basically it. The nurses took Jo for a bath after my OB finished my stitches, then handed me a clean, screaming baby that was very, very hungry.
I was instantly smitten with Jonah. It seems like an impossible flood of emotions to describe, that of being a mother for the very first time. I remember being sad because I felt empty. Literally empty. I missed the kicks and flutters immediately. I was overcome with love and joy, but was not quite ready to give up the unity of having my child live inside my body.
There have been a great many good things happen to me in my life, but until that point (October 8th, 2008) the best was the first two days I spent by myself in the hospital with Jonah. I would have spent the rest of my life living in that 48 hour loop of birth and recovery.
I was lucky enough to have my mom and two of my best friends to help coach Jonah into the world with me. And Maranda was sweet enough to snap some pictures. These first pictures are truly treasures to me. They have always held a special place in my heart, but especially now that I have gone through the birth experience for the second time. Thought I'd share.
(Those lungs, though.)
(Ah, the squirming, invasion-of-privacy pictures...
we all have them...and that's his umbilical cord---
not his winkie)
(At one point in my life, I had blonde hair. Subsequently, I also owned a
Fergie CD during this time frame. Let's pretend it never happened, ok?)
(I love this little face)
Jonah Stats
Labor: 5 hours
6 lbs, 2 oz
18.5" long
Oct 7, 2008
7:28 a.m.
No comments:
Post a Comment