Sunday, September 18, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Birth story
So about an hour after I wrote the last post, I start seeing clots, and I consult with my friends, the phrase "placental abruption" is mentioned, and I freak out. I page the doctor again, and she says, "eh, this is all normal and it's not placental tissue you are seeing, but if you want, you can come in to get checked." I decide to go. I sadly put my uneaten lasagna in the fridge and go to the hospital. At this point it's only 6:30 or 7 PM, and no sign of a hurricane yet, and cabs are plentiful.
They put me in triage, and there is no conclusive sign of any rupture in the amniotic sac and I am only 1 CM dilated, but they decide to admit me since it's likely my water did break, my blood pressure is elevated and I've felt a few contractions. I ask the doctor, "so, any way to put this on pause till Monday PM when Jonker gets back from the motherland?" The answer is no, and they put me on pitocin at 10 PM. I didn't realize that I would literally be tied to the bed by a bunch of wires and monitors, and getting up to pee is a major event that requires the assistance of a nurse. By 2:30 AM, I am only 2 CM dilated. I am feeling the beginnings of some stronger contractions, and I can tell that I am not going to like it. My sister, the ever clever anesthesiologist, says i should just get the epidural and lie if they ask how severe the pain is, not because they will deny me the epidural, but because they will judge me as weak. I wait a little because I feel as if I should "earn" the epidural and give myself a small taste of what I will be avoiding, and get the epi around 3. The attending comes by to shoot me up (the one upside to having a relative work at the hospital) and I try not to think about the risk of permanent neurological damage if they stab me in the spinal cord. Apparently he has to poke me a couple of times because of my "pronounced scoliosis". Thanks for pointing that out guy. In 15 minutes I feel like I am sitting on a cloud.
I try to sleep but with the blood pressure cuff tightening to a diameter of what feels like 1 inch (I have the burst capillaries to prove it) and checking my blood pressure every 15 minutes, it is hard. I think I drift off to sleep around 4, and wake up again around 7 or 7:30. The resident checks me at 8:30 AM and I am 8 CM dilated. The monitor by my bed which shows the contractions and fetal heartbeat for each woman in L&D shows that the floor has gone from 30% full to completely full overnight, and everyone is running around and monitoring patients via cell phone while delivering other patients in the next room. Fortunately most of the nurses and doctors had decided to come in early the night before to avoid getting stuck in the hurricane. By 9 AM I am 10 CM dilated, and we start pushing.
During this time, a great many doctors, nurses and other unidentified personnel walk in and out of my room, some for no apparent reason. My hoo-hoo is also facing the door, so everyone (except my sister, who is pointedly staring at the wall, ceiling, floor, everywhere but my hoo-hoo) is looking at my private place. Great.
I push, and the epidural thankfully is totally working, and I don't feel anything except some slight pressure. While pushing, I am mainly just hoping that I am not pooing. I push for an hour, and pop! goes the weasel.
It was all quicker and easier than I thought it would be, but I understand now why people would choose to do home birth. I still would not, but there is definitely something to be said about not being put in a strange room, hooked up to machines and nurses walking in and out every half hour.
They put me in triage, and there is no conclusive sign of any rupture in the amniotic sac and I am only 1 CM dilated, but they decide to admit me since it's likely my water did break, my blood pressure is elevated and I've felt a few contractions. I ask the doctor, "so, any way to put this on pause till Monday PM when Jonker gets back from the motherland?" The answer is no, and they put me on pitocin at 10 PM. I didn't realize that I would literally be tied to the bed by a bunch of wires and monitors, and getting up to pee is a major event that requires the assistance of a nurse. By 2:30 AM, I am only 2 CM dilated. I am feeling the beginnings of some stronger contractions, and I can tell that I am not going to like it. My sister, the ever clever anesthesiologist, says i should just get the epidural and lie if they ask how severe the pain is, not because they will deny me the epidural, but because they will judge me as weak. I wait a little because I feel as if I should "earn" the epidural and give myself a small taste of what I will be avoiding, and get the epi around 3. The attending comes by to shoot me up (the one upside to having a relative work at the hospital) and I try not to think about the risk of permanent neurological damage if they stab me in the spinal cord. Apparently he has to poke me a couple of times because of my "pronounced scoliosis". Thanks for pointing that out guy. In 15 minutes I feel like I am sitting on a cloud.
I try to sleep but with the blood pressure cuff tightening to a diameter of what feels like 1 inch (I have the burst capillaries to prove it) and checking my blood pressure every 15 minutes, it is hard. I think I drift off to sleep around 4, and wake up again around 7 or 7:30. The resident checks me at 8:30 AM and I am 8 CM dilated. The monitor by my bed which shows the contractions and fetal heartbeat for each woman in L&D shows that the floor has gone from 30% full to completely full overnight, and everyone is running around and monitoring patients via cell phone while delivering other patients in the next room. Fortunately most of the nurses and doctors had decided to come in early the night before to avoid getting stuck in the hurricane. By 9 AM I am 10 CM dilated, and we start pushing.
During this time, a great many doctors, nurses and other unidentified personnel walk in and out of my room, some for no apparent reason. My hoo-hoo is also facing the door, so everyone (except my sister, who is pointedly staring at the wall, ceiling, floor, everywhere but my hoo-hoo) is looking at my private place. Great.
I push, and the epidural thankfully is totally working, and I don't feel anything except some slight pressure. While pushing, I am mainly just hoping that I am not pooing. I push for an hour, and pop! goes the weasel.
It was all quicker and easier than I thought it would be, but I understand now why people would choose to do home birth. I still would not, but there is definitely something to be said about not being put in a strange room, hooked up to machines and nurses walking in and out every half hour.
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