The big, fat, mother post

Prologue

There are a few experiences that are so significant that the rest of your life is characterized in terms of before and after. Your wedding day or a debilitating accident. The death of a loved one or winning the lottery. Betrayal, illness, the birth of a child.

But not just any child...

My child.

In this case it’s difficult to delineate my watershed moment – was it the shocking seconds after I first saw that faint line on the pregnancy test? When I told Tim we were going to be parents? When I found out “it” was a “she”? The seven hellish months I was so sick that it still makes me shudder to think of them? When my water broke six weeks early? When I finally delivered the five-pound entity I’d felt wriggling about in my womb for so long? When I first saw her? No, those don’t feel right. It wasn’t any of them. ..

How it all began

First there was swelling. Face, hands, legs, feet, eyes, nose, fingers. Then a death, then an airplane, then more swelling.

Then there was a funeral, which I won’t discuss in this narrative, except:

Even I – a Utah native born and bred in the art of pectin processing – was a little astonished at how many varieties of jello salad made their way onto the luncheon spread following my grandma’s funeral: salads filled with the usual suspects – strawberries, bananas, oranges, and Cool Whip – along with those containing cottage cheese, mayonnaise, cream cheese, tapioca, rice, marshmallows, graham crackers, and (seriously) pretzels. I’m a sucker for pot lucks, and naturally felt as though I must try them all. So I did, while my husband watched my gluttonous frenzy with a mixture of horror and disdain. He tried only one such salad – a boring recipe comprised of only one flavor of jello and only one fruit accompaniment . I tried to coax him into partaking of some of the more colorful options, but he refused with an attitude described best as New England Snobbery. Said the words, “Foodborne,” and “toxins,” and “sitting out for an awfully long time.”

The next morning, about 4 am, I began the process of returning the colorful assortment of diabetes-inducing desserts to our good mother earth. I was slightly (but not very) surprised to learn that they taste about the same as a mixed-together, partially digested conglomerate goo as they did as individual dishes. This gut-purging adventure lasted most of the day, and rid me of ten pounds worth of retained water. The next day I felt much better. While I was excited to see something that vaguely resembled ankles near my feet, I knew I needed to rehydrate if for no other reason than for the sake of the five pound parasite I’d been harboring in my uterus. I spent the day trying to drink as much water as possible, but I had a really hard time forcing myself to do it since I still had morning sickness.

That evening, I visited my cousin Jamie, who had a week-old baby boy. I hadn’t expected to go near him, since Jami knew I had been sick the day before, but she handed him to me as soon as I had sat down and said, “You need to hold him so you know what you have to look forward to.” As I cradled his tiny body, I fell in love a little. Not so much with him, adorable as he was, but with the baby I was expecting six weeks later.

That night as I was falling asleep, I felt an unprecedented impatience to meet my daughter. Holding Jami’s baby did something to my state of mind that I can’t quite explain, and I even started to think that I would be able to hold my baby soon. I reminded myself that she wasn’t finished cooking, and drifted off to sleep.

I woke up several times that night, and kept Tim awake with my tossing and turning. We were both frustrated so I got up to eat a piece of toast with butter and jam. Tim came out and gave me hug and told me to come back to bed. I suddenly felt sick again, and vomited so violently that I thought I felt something snap inside my abdomen.

When I went back to bed, the baby was kicking a lot, and twisting inside my womb. Tim put his hand on my stomach and we both laughed at how forceful her movements were. I was almost asleep when I felt a warm gush of water on my thighs. I told Tim I was leaking, and he said, “Is it a lot?” He felt the back of my pajamas and said, “Oh… ummm… yeah. I guess we’re going to the hospital.”

I went into the bathroom and found that I was still leaking a reddish, bloody fluid. I told my mom through the door that my water had broken, and she called my aunt Sheryl who is a nurse practitioner to ask where we should go.I called my doctor in Boston and told her that my water had broken. She said to come in and they would take a look at me. When I told her I was on the other side of the country, she said, “Well, dear… it looks like you’re going to be having a baby in Utah.”

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How it all continued…

I was admitted to the Logan Regional Hospital Women’s Center at about 5:45 am. We were really impressed with the room, which was huge, and our view of the Wellsville Mountains.

They inserted an IV to hydrate me, and put two monitors around my abdomen: one to monitor the baby’s heart rate, and one to measure the frequency and intensity of my contractions. In addition, they placed a rolled up blanket under my right hip so that the weight of the baby wouldn’t squeeze off circulation to my vena cava. The nurse who originally gave me instructions told me that I had to sit on the blanket even if I was sitting up, which didn’t make sense to me… but I obeyed diligently. This sitting on a blanket situation ended up being really painful after an hour, and after a day, my back ached really badly. This was the worst part of labor for me.

Sheryl pulled some strings and asked Dr. Strebel to deliver my baby even though he wasn’t on call. She said I wouldn’t like the doctor who was on call because he was rather old school and inflexible. I liked Dr. Strebel a lot – he was funny and joked around with us. When I was admitted, I was dilated to about a one, and approximately 10% effaced. Because it was six weeks before my due date, I hadn’t been tested for Group B Strep, so I had to be given IV amoxicillin to protect the baby just in case I did have it. I had a low-grade fever when I was admitted, and though they didn’t see any signs of infection with my blood work, they were concerned that some kind of infection may have made my water break.

Dr. Strebel decided not to induce labor, but also didn’t give me drugs that would prevent labor; he wanted to just wait and watch. One nurse said that if I didn’t go into labor, he might send me home. This was a bit perplexing, since I was pretty sure they weren’t going to let me get on a plane to go back to Boston and I didn’t want to waste my maternity leave hanging out at my parents’ house waiting to go into labor. But I had a feeling I would go into labor…

That day lasted about 96 hours, or so it seemed. I was incredibly uncomfortable due to the hip blanket, and Tim and I were bored out of our brains just sitting in a hospital room. Also, they wouldn’t let me eat anything at first because they weren’t sure whether they were going to induce me. This is normal, I’m told, but keep in mind that I had barely eaten for the past 48 hours due to my bout with jellovirus. I had morning sickness, which is much worse on an empty stomach. Needless to say, I puked a few times. They did say I could have chicken broth, so I kept ordering cup after cup. I found out later that every time I rang the bell for a nurse to bring me chicken broth, the hospital charged me $160. I’m praying that my insurance will cover those charges.

Luckily for us, we had visitors to help us pass the time. My mom and Cami came to visit us, and Cami even went against the core nature of her no-touchy being and gave me a foot rub. Sheryl also came by a couple times, and kept us company for a long time. I appreciated those visits more than I can express… they helped keep my mind off being terrified and wanting to slash the wrists of the mean nurse who made me sit lopsided on a blanket.

That day, Tim and I would look at each other from time to time with wide eyes, and one of us would say, “It’s happening. We’re going to have a baby.”

I started having contractions Saturday afternoon – not terrible contractions, and I was able to breathe through them fairly easily. I had contractions all night Saturday, but they weren’t regular or very painful. Sunday morning I started having more regular contractions and they hurt. Kind of a lot. I used my relaxation techniques at first, but they started getting worse and worse. I tried to breathe through them, but I also had a bad cough (from the stomach acid… d*^% jellovirus) and couldn’t take deep breaths or control my breathing very well. They got so bad that I vomited and started going into shock.

Tim was so fantastic and supportive during labor. He held my hand, stroked my hair, and kept telling me I was doing great. Also, Sunday morning, we got a new nurse. She said there was no reason for me to sit on the rolled-up blanket as long as I was sitting up, and seemed surprised that anybody would have told me differently. *^%&!!! This nurse, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten, was one of the many nurses we appreciated so much during our time at Logan Regional Hospital.

I had hoped to have a natural birth – to embrace the pain, to work with the contractions, and to have a spiritual, existential experience. But I just wasn’t coping, and found the contractions more on the side of ‘traumatizing’ than ‘spiritual.’ I admire my friends who are able to give birth naturally, and I know they have had really beautiful experiences, but it became clear that such a birth wasn’t going to be an option for me that day and I was perfectly okay with that.

I asked what kinds of medications were options at that point, and they gave me some kind of narcotic to “take the edge off.” I was able to sleep for a couple hours, but the narcotics wore off and the contractions became unbearable. I asked if an epidural was possible. I was only dilated to a 2, but I just wasn’t coping with the pain. I was shaking uncontrollably, my blood pressure had dropped, and I had a fever.

The anethesist had me sit up and put my head against Tim’s chest. She and the nurse warned me that it might be really painful, but the pain involved was nothing compared to the contractions. I was crying and shaking and freezing (or so it seemed), but the nurse and anethesist were so kind and helpful. Tim held me while talking me through contractions. The process took about 20 minutes, then the nurse checked me again. I was dilated to a 6, 100% effaced, and my contractions were about a minute and a half apart. And…. I couldn’t feel them… not even a little! God bless the epidural.

Sheryl and Jami came to visit right after the epidural, and at that point I couldn’t feel any pain from my waist down. I can’t tell you how ardently I loved and adored and would have married that epidural. Suddenly my labor and birth experience was not only bearable, but even enjoyable. I was excited to watch the screen and see my contractions. Sheryl called my mom, who was in church, and said, “You’d better get in here – she’s going to give birth soon.”

My mom, Lance, Dani, Cami, and Ivy showed up. Karen was supposed drive back to Denver with Zack that afternoon, but called to say that she was going to stay in Utah another week so she could see the baby’s birth. After all, she said, “I’ll probably never again get the opportunity t to see one of my sisters give birth again.” I told her it would probably happen quite soon, and she said she would speed over to the hospital. She was true to her word, and got there within fifteen minutes.

The nurse checked me, and said I was fully dilated and ready to have a baby. My mom, Cami, and Karen were in the room. The nurse and Tim put my legs up in stirrups and prepped me. My dad showed up and said he would stay in a corner where he couldn’t see anything if we let him in. The nurse covered my lady parts and let him come in. Lance and Dani stayed with Ivy in the waiting room.The doctor came in and asked if I was ready to have the baby. I said “No!” and everybody laughed. But I was serious. I wasn’t ready to have a baby – emotionally or logistically. I was terrified that I would bleed to death or that something would be wrong with the baby.

Suddenly even more people started showing up. Because I was giving birth prematurely, my daughter’s welcome crew included not only the labor and delivery nurse and obstetrician, but also a NICU nurse, a pediatrician, and a respiratory therapist. The doctor explained that my baby’s lungs weren’t fully developed and my daughter might not be able to breathe by herself. He also explained that she might have to be resuscitated upon arrival, and that she would certainly be whisked away to the NICU. They got a crash cart ready, and I think it was around this time that I started feeling really dizzy and the baby’s heart rate went down. They gave me an oxygen mask and lowered my head.

The doctor glanced at my hoo-hah and said, “Well, your baby has lots of black hair.” They asked me if I wanted to see, and I conceded even though I thought it might freak me out. I was right. I saw the little patch of hair they were talking about, smiled, and politely requested that they remove the mirror from my line of vision from that point forward. I didn’t want to see my lady parts torn to shreds.

Everybody got in place: Tim and the nurse holding my legs and feet (I still don’t know why), the doctor in catching position, the auxillary personel waiting anxiously with their respective tools and machines. Doctor Streble watched the screen until a contraction began, then advised me to take a deep breath and push as I exhaled. I had a really difficult time taking deep breaths, so I just pushed.

When the contraction ended, the doctor told me that during the next contraction, I should hold onto the backs of my legs when pushing. After a couple more pushes, the doctor said her head was partially out. Since the baby was posterior, I figured he could see her face so I asked, “Does she have eyeballs?” I really just wanted to know if they could see her eyes yet, but everything went quiet as the doctors and nurses looked at each other, clearly bewildered by my question. Cami and Karen burst into laughter, and one of them said, “Don’t mind her… that is sooo Laura to ask that.”

I rested for a couple minutes while waiting for the next contraction. I saw the doctor pick up some scissors and clip... you know, down there... but at that point I didn’t care. The next contraction began and Doctor Streble kept saying things like, “Keep pushing, keep pushing, keep pushing…” and then he said, “Okay, stop pushing for a minute.” I had watched enough live births on the internet to realize that my baby’s head was probably out (this was later confirmed). I felt a rush of endorphins as the doctor put his fingers inside and pulled the shoulders free. The baby then slid out very quickly and as she vacated my womb, I felt a significant pressure loss in my abdomen.

The doctor started laughing because somehow the baby had grabbed one of the receiving blankets and wouldn’t let go. He cleared her nose and lungs and our baby girl started screaming loudly. Tim cried as he looked back and forth between the baby and me, and he smiled more broadly than I had ever seen him before.

My family sprung into action. Up until that point, they had stayed politely on the couch – careful not to invade my naked-from-the-waste-down privacy; however, as soon as the baby came out, my sisters completely disregarded me and my exposed lady parts as they took hundreds of pictures. Dr. Streble clamped off her umbilical cord, and then Tim cut her off from being completely dependent on my life force. That was a bittersweet moment for me, but not the one that marked the transition from before to after. Not yet.

The doctors and nurses whisked her away to wipe off her vernix and examine her. All I really remember was clicks and flashes, and wondering when the afterbirth would come out. At some point it did, but I don’t remember that. The doctor didn’t ask me if I wanted to see it, and I’m glad because I would have said, “Yes,” but it would have been a lie – I didn’t really want to see it, and probably would have passed out had they shown it to me. I’ve never been able to handle the sight of my own blood – let alone large masses of tissue expelled from within. Dr. Streble said that he had performed a hymenotomy (I don’t know why) and that I had second-degree tears that he needed to stitch up.

Somebody told us that the baby weighed five pounds, zero ounces, and that she was 18 inches long. I asked the doctor what her APGAR score was, and he said, “Hmmm… that’s the nurses’ job.” One of the nurses said, “We forgot to assign one with all the excitement” and the other said, “I’m going to say an eight.” I was so happy to hear that she was healthy enough to get that high of a score.

One of the nurses (the beloved Dana… we would get to know her in the NICU) wrapped her in a blanket and put her on my chest. She explained that I could only hold her for a few seconds because she needed to go to the NICU. I was so happy to hold my baby for the first time – she was stopped crying and was so beautiful resting in my arms.

I was a bit disoriented from it all, so I smiled for the photos and tried to gather myself, but it was all I could do not to vomit. It wasn’t anything against the baby, I just still feeling so sick Dana took her back and escorted her and Tim to the NICU nursery.

Lance and Dani came in, and all I remember about that is that they were really nice to me and asking Lance to take pictures of the medical tools used during the birth.

Tim came back and said, “You made a beautiful, baby.” He said she was doing great and the doctors were all really impressed with how vivacious she was. The nurses said she was, “feisty and stubborn.” Tim couldn’t stop smiling and was clearly very happy. He sat by me for a while and then went back to the nursery. Did I mention that I felt sick?

I was eventually moved to the “Mother and Baby” section of the hospital, on the third floor. Tim and I went down to the NICU, and I held the baby again. My family showed up, and my sisters and mom were able to gown up, scrub in, and hold the baby. We took her to the window to show Lance and Dani.

When we went back up to my room, it was completely decorated with flowers, balloons, candy and what seemed like hundreds presents. In addition to clothes and blankest for the baby, there was a bathrobe and two new pairs of really comfortable pajamas. My family was there, and we sat around at talked for a while.

They left, and Tim and I went back down to the NICU. We watched as the nurse showed us how to sponge-bathe the baby. The baby cried during most of it, but was completely silent and content when her hair was washed – it was quite cute. The nurse had me pick out a ribbon, and I chose a light green one to put in her hair. They then let me help pick out an outfit for her from a drawer full of preemie-sized baby clothes. She cried and wiggled as the nurse put clothes on her.

We went to the nursery, and the nurse explained that it was really good for the baby to have skin-on-skin contact with me. She undressed the baby (except her diaper), and put her on my chest underneath my hospital gown. Then she turned down the lights and left us alone with our baby.

The baby had been really wiggly and somewhat agitated up until then. As she lay on my chest, she became utterly calm, and fell asleep with her head resting next to my heart. Tim put his arm around me, and we sat silently as I looked at my sleeping infant, stroked her crazy, troll-like black hair, and fell completely in love.

And suddenly, it was after.

I was a mother.