Jonas is only 10 days old and it already feels like an eternity since we had him. Don’t get me wrong – we’re enjoying him quite a bit, but babies sure can rock your world.
Since I haven’t even bought a baby book yet to record his every precious moment and milestone – third kids really are neglected, after all! – I’m going to jot down my L&D story here, just so I never forget.
Fair warning: If you don’t want to hear about my cervix, or have some sort of problem with the complete and total medicalization of the birthing process, please come back and visit another day. For those who’d like to stay, I will, however, spare you some of the gory details and give it to you kindly in point form...
Sunday, September 28:
* We get the call from the hospital to come in for an induction at 7 PM. Since Asher was a big baby and I had a, um, challenging delivery (shoulder distocia and a yukky episiotomy) last time, Dr. M., my beloved OB/GYN, thought my vag and I might appreciate the blessings of a smaller babe this time around.
* Though we were told the cervical gel would gently rock me into labor by the following morning, at which point I would awake refreshed from a great night’s sleep ready to take on Delivery Day, the contractions start about 30 minutes later.
* A long night of tears, fears and finally, Demerol, reminds me why I swore I would never do this again. Equally upsetting are the mirrored ceiling in the delivery suite (WTF?) and the fact that Dan feels the need to enjoy a giant bag of stinky ketchup chips all night long. (He’s a nervous eater.)
Monday, September 29:
* By 11 AM, it’s epidural time! Funny how the sight of a foot-long needle and dire warnings about the possibly paralytic repercussions of a single flinch during its insertion can be so warmly welcomed in the proper context.
* Now the fun stuff really starts: the doc breaks my water with some sort of crochet hook, someone botches an I.V. insertion, I lose my fight against the catheter nurse and the pitocin drip kicks the contractions into high gear. I go from 5 to 10 centimetres in an hour.
* Dan puts on a sweatshirt bearing his firm’s logo, just in case anyone thinks he isn’t prepared to sue if things go awry.
* And then we wait until I feel the need to push. And wait. And wait. Two hours later, deserted by all nurses and doctors due to a series of emergency c-sections down the hall, we’re still waiting.
* Unable to bear my complaints any longer, Dan goes trolling for nurses in the hallway. He comes back with one who begrudgingly checks me while rolling her eyes, then screams "GET THE DOCTOR!!!"
* Stirrups fly into place, birthing accoutrements are ceremoniously laid out and Dr. M. comes flying into the room just in time. After he makes fun of me for bothering to get a pedicure before the Big Event (I figure, if my toes were the last thing I ever saw, I’d want them to be nicely groomed) and two pushes later, at 3:26 PM, I hear the doc say: "Reach down and grab your baby..."
* As I pull Baby Jonas up onto my stomach and look into his scrunchy little face, I’m amazed once again that there actually was a real person in there, waxy, wondrous little thing that he is.
* Dan cuts the cord and we share a moment while the doc puts Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Tuesday, September 30:
* I hate hospitals and so Dr. M was kind enough to release me into Dan’s custody a mere 24 hours and one minute after the delivery. The freak amount of babies born the previous day meant no private rooms had been available – and thus, we were kept up all night by someone else’s baby! – so home was sounding pretty good.
* Our no-longer-so-little family is reunited at last when my mom brings Abby and Asher home, and we settle in to the hazy, lazy, crazy days of life with a newborn in the house.
Fun Update, Tuesday, October 7:
* Just as I think to myself, "Gee, I can’t believe how quickly I feel like I’m getting back to normal," I begin feeling crappy and feverish.
* The hemorrhaging begins shortly thereafter. Drawing on the rich experience of a friend who almost bled out three weeks postpartum (on her white couch, no less), I decide to take it seriously.
* Dr. M. spares me a trip to the E.R. and sees me right away in his office. I have endometritis, it turns out – an angry, freaky uterus with an ax to grind. Since I’m not naturally gross, I’m going to blame the army of residents, interns, nurses and possibly even orderlies who had their hands up in my business during my 18 hours of labor. Maybe one of them forgot to wash up.
Gotta go now... Baby Jonas needs a boob!
.jpg)