6:30 pm: Time to push. I get in to position and get some last minute tips on how this is going to go. Alissa (my doula) gets on one side, Philip on the other, OB and nurses on the end and we start. The thing that is difficult about pushing is to do it right. You can’t just push. Out of three or four times that I push per contraction, I am doing it correctly only once or twice. As I push and push, I start to feel a tremendous amount of pressure/pain across my lower abdomen and top of my thighs—I guess no amount of epidural can take that away. Contractions are now coming every 30 seconds or so and I’m trying to go completely limp in between to save my energy but it’s hard because I can’t escape the pain. I focus on Philip and Alissa’s voices. “You can do this. This is the part where you get to show how strong you are.” I ask for ice chips to keep my mouth from drying out.
8:00 pm: Still pushing. I am starting to feel winded and queazy from pushing. After all, I didn’t have my pasta. They give me an oxygen mask, which helps. My OB is in and out to check on the progress-he is tending to another birth next door. At some point, it’s just Philip and Alissa coaching me through. I think to myself, “it must not be close if no one is here.”
Somewhere between here and 9:00 pm, I vomit three times from exertion. Very pretty. Though I really had nothing in my stomach other than ice chips so it’s not much. I am told that vomiting actually helps to push the baby out. Whatever it takes, I guess. I am starting to feel weak, shaking, and have developed a fever. They hook me up on antibiotics. I keep pushing through the pain. Boy does it hurt. But it does help to push. The OB advises me to let the contraction build before pushing to work with what your body is doing. I can’t even talk. Every time I feel a contraction, I just wave my hands. OB tells me that the baby is having difficulties ducking under the pelvic bone—once it’s through there, the rest will be fast.
9:00 pm: My Ob asks how I’m doing and I tell him that I’m pretty tired. He says, “Let's push for another 30 minutes but then at that point, we’ll have to help you to have the baby come out.” OK-I can handle another 30 minutes.
9:30 pm: The time has come. He tells me that the baby needs a little more room to come out so he will have to do an episiotomy. I say, at this point, do anything to help it come out. I’m on drugs, so who cares?
10:00 pm: As I’m pushing still, the room is now brighter. There is some commotion as additional staff (The Mec Team!) comes in. We hear equipment being set up. The nurse looks over at me and says, “You are really close.” I am? OK, if you say so. The episiotomy is performed (Philips says that he will never forget the sound of ‘snip, snip, snip’), then our OB says, “Two more pushes and the baby is out.” I bear down and push with all my might. Then I open my eyes and there in the crowd, is my child. Upside down, purple, and screaming. She has arrived.
she was not born with the hat, if anyone was wondering
My first thought was, “Wow, it’s a human.” I mean, it’s a totally perfect human baby. Stupid thing to think, but that was my thought. I couldn’t believe how intact she was. That this creature was incubating in me and now it’s out and it’s perfect. I had no words. Then the team whisked her away to clean her up before putting her on my chest, crying and looking around. We just looked at her in awe. I didn’t even notice the completely different show going on in with the lower half of the body – what with all the suturing and the cord blood donation. Later I found out that I had a third degree tear after of the episiotomy. I’d like to thank the Smith family for Yuki’s 14-inch head.
little big head
The first night at the hospital was just surreal. I was exhausted but too excited to sleep and my body felt like it had gone through a machine (like Charlie Chaplin). My OB visited me early the next morning and commended me for my hard work and said that, or a while, I will feel like I had been hit by a truck. Nice. What we weren’t prepared for during the next 36 hours was the amount of people that walk through your room. The lab for your blood work, nurses to give you meds, pediatrician to check on the baby, hearing test, PKU test, hepatitis shots, lactation nurse, and “Baby’s First Portrait.” Yes, while you are bed bound, the portrait lady comes in and takes pictures of your kid and leaves you a brochure to sucker you in to buying.
it's not stealing if it's a picture of your own kid, right?
There were so many people and we were at such weakened stated that if any one walked in and said, “I’m here to drain your bank account. Can you give me your pass word and an ATM card?” we would have said “sure.”
It was also during this time that Philip did his first diaper change. Being the uncle to some 26 nieces and nephews, he is very used to and unafraid to hold tiny babies, which is nice, but somehow he has never changed a diaper. So he decided to dive into one. What followed was a total physical comedy routine worthy of Dick van Dyke. First of all, it was a full-on poopy diaper – the newborn poop that’s like black tar. He didn’t quite have the wipes and the clean diaper near him so after opening up the exploded shell of a diaper, he scampered (I never scamper –Ph) to get the wipe and by the time he returns, poo was on Yuki’s feet. Then he tried to wipe them but the poo only smeared and spread while he nervously did a running commentary on how badly it was going. A nurse walked in took one look, chuckled and stayed out of the way for a minute but finally said, “Would you like some help?” to which he wisely said, “Yes, please.” I was helpless—couldn’t even get a word in as this was unfolding. But by the time we left, Philip was a diaper champ.
the view from the recovery room
Swedish is awesome. Their nurses are so kind and resourceful and the rooms are amazing and you can get room service!! What is not to love? On Tuesday, we packed up and left for home. It felt like we were in the hospital for 10 days. Philip cautiously drove home and we walked in to a house which will forever be different.
Stay tuned for the next exciting chapter.
Trixie is a very good nanny
8:00 pm: Still pushing. I am starting to feel winded and queazy from pushing. After all, I didn’t have my pasta. They give me an oxygen mask, which helps. My OB is in and out to check on the progress-he is tending to another birth next door. At some point, it’s just Philip and Alissa coaching me through. I think to myself, “it must not be close if no one is here.”
Somewhere between here and 9:00 pm, I vomit three times from exertion. Very pretty. Though I really had nothing in my stomach other than ice chips so it’s not much. I am told that vomiting actually helps to push the baby out. Whatever it takes, I guess. I am starting to feel weak, shaking, and have developed a fever. They hook me up on antibiotics. I keep pushing through the pain. Boy does it hurt. But it does help to push. The OB advises me to let the contraction build before pushing to work with what your body is doing. I can’t even talk. Every time I feel a contraction, I just wave my hands. OB tells me that the baby is having difficulties ducking under the pelvic bone—once it’s through there, the rest will be fast.
9:00 pm: My Ob asks how I’m doing and I tell him that I’m pretty tired. He says, “Let's push for another 30 minutes but then at that point, we’ll have to help you to have the baby come out.” OK-I can handle another 30 minutes.
9:30 pm: The time has come. He tells me that the baby needs a little more room to come out so he will have to do an episiotomy. I say, at this point, do anything to help it come out. I’m on drugs, so who cares?
10:00 pm: As I’m pushing still, the room is now brighter. There is some commotion as additional staff (The Mec Team!) comes in. We hear equipment being set up. The nurse looks over at me and says, “You are really close.” I am? OK, if you say so. The episiotomy is performed (Philips says that he will never forget the sound of ‘snip, snip, snip’), then our OB says, “Two more pushes and the baby is out.” I bear down and push with all my might. Then I open my eyes and there in the crowd, is my child. Upside down, purple, and screaming. She has arrived.
she was not born with the hat, if anyone was wondering
little big head
it's not stealing if it's a picture of your own kid, right?There were so many people and we were at such weakened stated that if any one walked in and said, “I’m here to drain your bank account. Can you give me your pass word and an ATM card?” we would have said “sure.”
It was also during this time that Philip did his first diaper change. Being the uncle to some 26 nieces and nephews, he is very used to and unafraid to hold tiny babies, which is nice, but somehow he has never changed a diaper. So he decided to dive into one. What followed was a total physical comedy routine worthy of Dick van Dyke. First of all, it was a full-on poopy diaper – the newborn poop that’s like black tar. He didn’t quite have the wipes and the clean diaper near him so after opening up the exploded shell of a diaper, he scampered (I never scamper –Ph) to get the wipe and by the time he returns, poo was on Yuki’s feet. Then he tried to wipe them but the poo only smeared and spread while he nervously did a running commentary on how badly it was going. A nurse walked in took one look, chuckled and stayed out of the way for a minute but finally said, “Would you like some help?” to which he wisely said, “Yes, please.” I was helpless—couldn’t even get a word in as this was unfolding. But by the time we left, Philip was a diaper champ.
the view from the recovery roomStay tuned for the next exciting chapter.
Trixie is a very good nanny
Comments
That was beautifully life affirming and excellent birth control for me all at the same time.
Meghan A
Can't wait to meet the little one! :)
Erika