Alright, alright, alright! You've asked for it repeatedly and I'm here to, you guessed it, deliver...hehehehe. I gave birth to our son, Lucas Decklyn on September 19th. He was one week early (and technically five weeks late if you kept up with my bed rest saga) and there is no other word to describe him other than 'perfect'. Even with blow-out dirty diapers and slobber fo' dayyyyys. Also, apparently I'm one of those moms. The ones that take 700 pictures of their baby within an hour. The ones that can't have a normal discussion with adults unless it's about baby poop, puke, sleeping schedules, or breastfeeding.The ones that we used to make complete fun of before we joined the club. The ones who don't shower for days and don't realize it, or even realize what day it actually is. But before I discovered I was one of "them", I had to get Luke here. And how he got here is nothing short of drama, extreme profanity, and simply the most gross thing I've ever experienced in my life--and I've experienced a classroom full of 10 year olds after recess on a 90 degree day.
What you are about to read will either confirm what you already knew about me or will change your opinion regarding my less-than choir girl personality. There is no way to describe my labor story without keeping it real because quite simply, SHIT. GOT. REAL. I'll try to keep it as clean as I can (you never know who may read my words and I make a negative impact, I mean, I do still have a day job). But, I'm not sugar coating any of the story. Read on if you wish; just remember, I warned you.
February 2015: First OB appointment to confirm pregnancy. Baby is measuring a few days ahead of schedule. I go ahead and convince myself on this day that clearly he'll be big and I'll need a C-section. I wanted to go ahead and book the surgeon.
July-mid August: I'm only interested in hearing labor stories from other moms who had C-sections, nevermind the fact that Dr. Gospodnetic has ne-VER uttered the word to us.
Mid August-Week 38: Sporadic contractions continue, we plan to be induced Thursday, September 24. And by induced, I thought, "Oh okay, go in and push for 10 mintues, then move me to the OR and take my kid out for me". Easy breezy.
Saturday, September 19th, 9:00am : I'm wide awake. I haven't slept at night in about a week. I move from the bed to the living room. Get the Kindle and read a bit. Watch TV for a bit. Try unsuccessfully for a nap. We talk about going somewhere and doing something, but we are afraid that the baby will come so we decide to stay put and be bored to tears.
1:30pm: Because it's my last week of eating ridiculously out of control and blaming it on the pregnancy, I want a meat lovers pizza. So we get it. And I eat it. And it made all my pizza dreams come true.
2:30pm: I take 2 stool softeners. I haven't pooped in days. Weeks. YEARS.
3:55pm: Maybe some chocolate will help. I go to the bathroom, head to the kitchen to get a popsicle. Mike heads out to the store. I unwrap my popsicle, throw the wrapper away. Head to the living room and sit down on the sofa.
4:00pm: The popsicle is literally in mid-stride to my mouth, just centimeters away, when all of a sudden there is a "SHABOOSH" and warm, wet something leaks out of me and soaks my drawers and shorts. Holy shit balls, did my water just break? Am I ruining my sofa? We just bought this! We can't afford a new sofa! People will just have to sit on my amniotic-fluid soaked cushion from here on out because this sectional ain't going anywhere for awhile now. Maybe I just peed myself? No. I just went to the bathroom. I read somewhere that you can tell the difference between pee and "water breaking" by smelling it. Pee is sour, amniotic fluid has no smell or is sometimes sweet. I stand, drop my undies and shorts because EW, and walk like I've been riding a horse for a month to the bathroom.
Okay, it's clear. But my pee is sometimes clear? Shit. I thought there'd be more? I can't sit on the toilet and check anything. If it was my water breaking, shouldn't I have pain? Isn't my kid's head supposed to be like poking out down there now? What if I sneeze and he shoots out into the toilet? I bend over and take a whiff of my shorts. No smell. So, not pee? WTF is happening??
4:02pm: I call Mike and let him know he may want to whip it back around to the house because we got action. God only knows the people he caused to wreak or how many laws he's used to enforcing that he broke on the way home. Meanwhile...
I knew I should've taken a damn shower this morning. This means I won't be able to shower for days and all my pictures are going to have shitty hair. I brush my teeth, put on the "go" outfit (see below, taken approximately 10 minutes after the water breakage!) and linger around the bedroom checking for stuff I may have forgotten in my bag. Mike is sweating like a warthog in the middle of the African desert. We've had our bags packed for a week, but he's literally throwing shit into his bags like the house is on fire. We head into the kitchen and it's time for me to leave Rudy. I squat down to his level and start to cramp pretty badly. Which means this is really happening...and when I come home, it won't ever be the same. Which makes me burst into tears and suffocate my dog all the while apologizing to him and begging him to not hate me when I got back.
5:05pm: We make it to the hospital in a ridiculously short amount of time. Luckily, I'm only having moderate period-like cramping. Enough to walk in on my own and tour my room. And ask about menus and checking out the snack center. My nurse swabs my fluid to send it off to the lab to confirm I'm in labor before my doc comes in. I get cozy.
6:05pm: The cramping gets worse. My lab work comes back in and says I'm NOT in labor. Excuse me? I have a puddle of baby liquid floating on my sofa at home and these cramps are not lying. I am NOT leaving this place with this kid in me!!
7:05pm: My doctor comes in a takes a look at the action that may or may not be happening downstairs. She agrees to not send me home quite yet; but she doesn't put me in the "active labor" category that is apparently the coveted status of all pregnant people. She suggests Mike and I go walk around the unit to perhaps get things on the go. We head out and before I can even make it down the front hall, something snaps and it feels like I've been hit in the gut by a baseball bat. I double over in pain and tell Mike there's no way I'm going anywhere except back to my room.
So here's the thing. When you're in labor, things are contracting. And not just your uterus. The place that's been holding all my stored up poop for months starts to release the super glue grip it's had on me. Oh, and lest we not forget the 2 stool softeners I had earlier. I have in my will that should I go into labor and can't communicate, #1-do everything possible to get the baby out and #2-do not let me poop during labor. I don't really have a will. But everyone close to me, including my nurses, knew that I could do anything needed to help my kid, but I refused to poop during labor. And if by chance it did happen, I required a blood signature stating that it would never be spoken of again.
I make it back to my room and go straight to the bathroom. I've heard people, especially men, say that the greatest feeling other than an orgasm is the first pee post-orgasm. I can promise you I did not have an orgasm, but I pooped the greastest poop in the history of mankind. Not to be crude, but okay, this is totally crude, it was the most I've ever pooped in my entire life. I was convinced I had already given labor from just sitting on the toilet. I wanted to weigh myself. And that's saying something when a 39 week pregnant lady WANTS to get on the scale. It was phenomenal.
My joy was brief, as about 10 minutes after the farewell to the pizza, the cramping went from moderate to knock-you-down. I couldn't sit still, as squirming was the only way to bring me some sort of relief. I started watching the clock and realized my contractions were not even making it five minutes apart. Where in the name of all that is holy is the doctor and blessed EPIDURAL?! Did they miss my shirt? Because I'm pretty damn sure this kid is ripe.
About this time is when the shaking starts. I'm talking like, Jack and Rose floating in the ocean shaking. The nurse tells me it's from all the adrenaline or something, I'm not really listening. I just know Mike keeps asking me if I'm cold and bless his heart, I want to set fire to every blanket within a 10-foot radius.
7:45pm: My doctor comes in and checks me again. 4 cm dilated. Where did you get your medical degree? Are these measurements in English? Or customary yada yada yada? Or metric? I'm sure I've passed centimeters an hour ago and it's the circumference of an elephant's head down there. And last time I checked, I AM NOT AN ELEPHANT. As soon as she puts her hand in, the same warm rush I felt at 4:00 happens again and I soak the bed. It's official, the REST of my water broke and she puts me in active labor. Bitch, I've been in active labor for like seven hours. Where the everloving Jesus is my epidural?!
The pain is too much for me to talk more than a word or two at a time by this point. My nurse tells me they've put an order in for my epidural. She also tells me there are 8 other women on my floor in active labor. I don't give a flying monkey how many women in the WORLD there are, I just need this pain to go away. WHY WASN'T THIS ORDERED IN FEBRUARY WHEN I FOUND OUT I WAS PREGNANT?! I will never complain about period cramps again. Wait, can't they just take out everything when they grab the baby? Any cramp-inducing part down there needs to be extracted!
8:30pm: I start trying to come up with little things to try to distract me from the pain, which is crazy-intense and is happening about 2 minutes apart. I count ceiling tiles. I try to come up with names for every letter of the alphabet. I can't be still. I've got the sheets wrapped up between my legs and I'm squeezing them together whenever a contraction hits. I also find that every time I squeeze, a little pee comes out. Possibly other things too. And I don't even carrrre.
I never had lamaze, but all I kept saying to myself was "breathe" over and over. I remember the movie Knocked-Up. I remember thinking, "Why is this chick screaming like that? Is she being over-dramtic or what?!" No. She was NOT. Katherine, I feel you. I think my robe has come undone and I think my boobs are out. If Mike asks me one more time if I'm okay, I'm going to rip the side of this bed off and throw it in his face! I can't do this. I can't do this! Yes you can. Jamie's sister in 'Outlander' gave birth in her bedroom with no medicine and no doctors. But she had whiskey. WHERE THE F*@! IS MY EPIDURAL?! Is there a mini fridge in this room? Can somebody get me a shot? If 1700's women got drunk during labor, then I might as well. SINCE NOBODY IN THIS MOTHER LOVING HOSPITAL CAN GET ME AN EPIDURAL. Melanie from Gone With the Wind did this in her bed. In Atlanta. In the middle of summer. Why did they all have on long sleeves? I'm in AC and am half naked but my blood is literally boiling, I'm positive!
Count to 10. 1. 2. 3. F*@! thisssssss. I moan. Out loud. It's official. I'm one of those dramatic laboring women. They can't get me my meds, I'm going to let them hear about it. IN ALASKA!!!! What number was I on? 17? 18. 16. 12. 2- The nurse comes back in to tell me the epidural is on the way. I ask her "how long" (at least I think I say something along those lines, I lost all coherent speech capabilities 900 contractions ago.) She tells me 45 minutes. 45 mother f*@!king minutes? Get the hell out of here. GET OUT. What kind of place is this? What is happening. Does this kid have teeth already? Because it literally feels like he's ripping my insides out. Breathe. Breathe.
9:30pm: I'm on my side and basically making out with the railing with the fancy tech stuff on it. There are buttons in the shape of a triangle. I can't read them because I can't focus enough to, but those buttons are what I stare at. There is no relief now, so it must be time. I'm just in one big, never-ending contraction. I can't do this. I can't. I figure the only way to get out of this situation is to talk to the one person who got me into it in the first place. Dear God, I. Can't. Do. SQUUUUEEEEZZZEEE. This. I-I-...I'm in so much pain I can't even string together a prayer. For some reason I think about Kelly in 90210 (I must have been delirious at this point) and I remember when she was in the fire and started reciting the Lord's Prayer. If Kelly, who we all hated, could talk to God, then surely I can too. Our father, who art in heaven.. Is it are? Or is it art? GOD, I CAN'T REMEMBER THE REST OF THE PRAYER!!! Help me, Jesus, God, Buddha, Santa, whoever is out there and can hear me, help a sistah out. I can't do this. I can't. Seal him in. I'll be pregnant forever.
10:00pm: I don't remember much after I failed at life and couldn't even say the one prayer in the world even atheists know. I just remember it was pain so severe I couldn't function. My nurse comes in to tell me the man is just down the hall and is coming to do my epidural. She needs me to sit up on the side of the bed. Bitch are you trippin? I can't lift my hand, much less my body. And who gives a shit about the meds now? You all were supposed to prevent me from having this pain. I might as well keep going without. Wait, what am I saying? Am I talking out loud? Stop. Come back. Come back! I can do it. I can! Give me the meds. Oh, I didn't say it out loud because I can't talk. With the help of my nurse, she redresses me and somehow by miracle, I get sat up on the edge of the bed.
Then this man walks in. A MAN. Are you effing kidding me? Who sends a male in here at this point? He's doing the epidural? He's sticking a needle into my spine? What does he know about this? HELP. ME. Jesus, I know I forgot the prayer. But if you are out there and can hear me, can you hear me? I'm trying to think REALLY LOUD because I REALLY need your help. Keep me calm. I've got to get this kid out. They obviously don't know what they are doing so it's up to me. Help me. I can do this. I can!
The guy comes behind me and tells me he needs me to sign something. Get the F*@! outta my face. I can't hold a pen right now! Are you joking? The nurse takes my hand and somehow throws some sort of scribble on the sheet. He tells me to sit as straight up as I can and to be extra still. Impossible, you jackass. I'm in the middle of giving birth to a field of watermelons. It can't be just one in there. They missed the second embryo on all the ultrasounds. I've got Godzilla pushing out of my body and you want me to be still? I hate you. I HATE you! I guess I couldn't do what he needed me to, because the next thing I know is this guy is saying, "Kristin, I really need you to sit still so I can get this into you and give you some relief". Mildly attractive man, I REALLY need you to try and push a tennis ball out of your penis and then come and tell me to sit still. Only then will you understand the true hell I'm in. I don't know how long this process actually takes and I also don't know the horror of nasty things I said to this gentlemen, but I know it worked. Somehow, some way, deep down inside of me, I found the strength to be still long enough for it to kick in.
10:45pm: I wish I could describe the pain leaving my body. As quickly as it came on, it quickly started to go away. It was like my contractions were coming back and I could get some relief between them. There were angels singing. Choirs rejoicing. (Although I don't know why, I forgot the prayer, for cryin' out loud). They sent Mike out before the guy got there to administer the epidural. After 45 minutes of pure torture, they let him in. I fixed my new no-pee-pee sheet like a sickly old southernly woman and turned the bed clothes down nice and neat, nevermind that 15 minutes before I was withering away in pain and begging the Lord to take me but save my baby. It had come to that. I try to do something with my drenched head, but realize like my modesty, sanity, and ability to do this ever again, it's a lost cause. Mike walks in and I'm a different person. There is no pain. I'm flipping through channels and thinking about what I want for a midnight snack. I could smoke a cigarette and I don't even smoke. I finally calmed down enough for my doctor to come back in and recheck me. I'm assuming she does her shove-in but at this point, bombs could've been going off around my cookie and I wouldn't have felt a thing.
With one arm hidden under the sheet, she grins up at me. "You're at 10 cm! Let's PUSH!"...FML.
**The saga continues in my next post, "THE Labor & Delivery, Part Two (& the first week home!)** Stay tuned.
5:05pm: We make it to the hospital in a ridiculously short amount of time. Luckily, I'm only having moderate period-like cramping. Enough to walk in on my own and tour my room. And ask about menus and checking out the snack center. My nurse swabs my fluid to send it off to the lab to confirm I'm in labor before my doc comes in. I get cozy.
6:05pm: The cramping gets worse. My lab work comes back in and says I'm NOT in labor. Excuse me? I have a puddle of baby liquid floating on my sofa at home and these cramps are not lying. I am NOT leaving this place with this kid in me!!
7:05pm: My doctor comes in a takes a look at the action that may or may not be happening downstairs. She agrees to not send me home quite yet; but she doesn't put me in the "active labor" category that is apparently the coveted status of all pregnant people. She suggests Mike and I go walk around the unit to perhaps get things on the go. We head out and before I can even make it down the front hall, something snaps and it feels like I've been hit in the gut by a baseball bat. I double over in pain and tell Mike there's no way I'm going anywhere except back to my room.
So here's the thing. When you're in labor, things are contracting. And not just your uterus. The place that's been holding all my stored up poop for months starts to release the super glue grip it's had on me. Oh, and lest we not forget the 2 stool softeners I had earlier. I have in my will that should I go into labor and can't communicate, #1-do everything possible to get the baby out and #2-do not let me poop during labor. I don't really have a will. But everyone close to me, including my nurses, knew that I could do anything needed to help my kid, but I refused to poop during labor. And if by chance it did happen, I required a blood signature stating that it would never be spoken of again.
I make it back to my room and go straight to the bathroom. I've heard people, especially men, say that the greatest feeling other than an orgasm is the first pee post-orgasm. I can promise you I did not have an orgasm, but I pooped the greastest poop in the history of mankind. Not to be crude, but okay, this is totally crude, it was the most I've ever pooped in my entire life. I was convinced I had already given labor from just sitting on the toilet. I wanted to weigh myself. And that's saying something when a 39 week pregnant lady WANTS to get on the scale. It was phenomenal.
My joy was brief, as about 10 minutes after the farewell to the pizza, the cramping went from moderate to knock-you-down. I couldn't sit still, as squirming was the only way to bring me some sort of relief. I started watching the clock and realized my contractions were not even making it five minutes apart. Where in the name of all that is holy is the doctor and blessed EPIDURAL?! Did they miss my shirt? Because I'm pretty damn sure this kid is ripe.
About this time is when the shaking starts. I'm talking like, Jack and Rose floating in the ocean shaking. The nurse tells me it's from all the adrenaline or something, I'm not really listening. I just know Mike keeps asking me if I'm cold and bless his heart, I want to set fire to every blanket within a 10-foot radius.
7:45pm: My doctor comes in and checks me again. 4 cm dilated. Where did you get your medical degree? Are these measurements in English? Or customary yada yada yada? Or metric? I'm sure I've passed centimeters an hour ago and it's the circumference of an elephant's head down there. And last time I checked, I AM NOT AN ELEPHANT. As soon as she puts her hand in, the same warm rush I felt at 4:00 happens again and I soak the bed. It's official, the REST of my water broke and she puts me in active labor. Bitch, I've been in active labor for like seven hours. Where the everloving Jesus is my epidural?!
The pain is too much for me to talk more than a word or two at a time by this point. My nurse tells me they've put an order in for my epidural. She also tells me there are 8 other women on my floor in active labor. I don't give a flying monkey how many women in the WORLD there are, I just need this pain to go away. WHY WASN'T THIS ORDERED IN FEBRUARY WHEN I FOUND OUT I WAS PREGNANT?! I will never complain about period cramps again. Wait, can't they just take out everything when they grab the baby? Any cramp-inducing part down there needs to be extracted!
8:30pm: I start trying to come up with little things to try to distract me from the pain, which is crazy-intense and is happening about 2 minutes apart. I count ceiling tiles. I try to come up with names for every letter of the alphabet. I can't be still. I've got the sheets wrapped up between my legs and I'm squeezing them together whenever a contraction hits. I also find that every time I squeeze, a little pee comes out. Possibly other things too. And I don't even carrrre.
I never had lamaze, but all I kept saying to myself was "breathe" over and over. I remember the movie Knocked-Up. I remember thinking, "Why is this chick screaming like that? Is she being over-dramtic or what?!" No. She was NOT. Katherine, I feel you. I think my robe has come undone and I think my boobs are out. If Mike asks me one more time if I'm okay, I'm going to rip the side of this bed off and throw it in his face! I can't do this. I can't do this! Yes you can. Jamie's sister in 'Outlander' gave birth in her bedroom with no medicine and no doctors. But she had whiskey. WHERE THE F*@! IS MY EPIDURAL?! Is there a mini fridge in this room? Can somebody get me a shot? If 1700's women got drunk during labor, then I might as well. SINCE NOBODY IN THIS MOTHER LOVING HOSPITAL CAN GET ME AN EPIDURAL. Melanie from Gone With the Wind did this in her bed. In Atlanta. In the middle of summer. Why did they all have on long sleeves? I'm in AC and am half naked but my blood is literally boiling, I'm positive!
Count to 10. 1. 2. 3. F*@! thisssssss. I moan. Out loud. It's official. I'm one of those dramatic laboring women. They can't get me my meds, I'm going to let them hear about it. IN ALASKA!!!! What number was I on? 17? 18. 16. 12. 2- The nurse comes back in to tell me the epidural is on the way. I ask her "how long" (at least I think I say something along those lines, I lost all coherent speech capabilities 900 contractions ago.) She tells me 45 minutes. 45 mother f*@!king minutes? Get the hell out of here. GET OUT. What kind of place is this? What is happening. Does this kid have teeth already? Because it literally feels like he's ripping my insides out. Breathe. Breathe.
9:30pm: I'm on my side and basically making out with the railing with the fancy tech stuff on it. There are buttons in the shape of a triangle. I can't read them because I can't focus enough to, but those buttons are what I stare at. There is no relief now, so it must be time. I'm just in one big, never-ending contraction. I can't do this. I can't. I figure the only way to get out of this situation is to talk to the one person who got me into it in the first place. Dear God, I. Can't. Do. SQUUUUEEEEZZZEEE. This. I-I-...I'm in so much pain I can't even string together a prayer. For some reason I think about Kelly in 90210 (I must have been delirious at this point) and I remember when she was in the fire and started reciting the Lord's Prayer. If Kelly, who we all hated, could talk to God, then surely I can too. Our father, who art in heaven.. Is it are? Or is it art? GOD, I CAN'T REMEMBER THE REST OF THE PRAYER!!! Help me, Jesus, God, Buddha, Santa, whoever is out there and can hear me, help a sistah out. I can't do this. I can't. Seal him in. I'll be pregnant forever.
10:00pm: I don't remember much after I failed at life and couldn't even say the one prayer in the world even atheists know. I just remember it was pain so severe I couldn't function. My nurse comes in to tell me the man is just down the hall and is coming to do my epidural. She needs me to sit up on the side of the bed. Bitch are you trippin? I can't lift my hand, much less my body. And who gives a shit about the meds now? You all were supposed to prevent me from having this pain. I might as well keep going without. Wait, what am I saying? Am I talking out loud? Stop. Come back. Come back! I can do it. I can! Give me the meds. Oh, I didn't say it out loud because I can't talk. With the help of my nurse, she redresses me and somehow by miracle, I get sat up on the edge of the bed.
Then this man walks in. A MAN. Are you effing kidding me? Who sends a male in here at this point? He's doing the epidural? He's sticking a needle into my spine? What does he know about this? HELP. ME. Jesus, I know I forgot the prayer. But if you are out there and can hear me, can you hear me? I'm trying to think REALLY LOUD because I REALLY need your help. Keep me calm. I've got to get this kid out. They obviously don't know what they are doing so it's up to me. Help me. I can do this. I can!
The guy comes behind me and tells me he needs me to sign something. Get the F*@! outta my face. I can't hold a pen right now! Are you joking? The nurse takes my hand and somehow throws some sort of scribble on the sheet. He tells me to sit as straight up as I can and to be extra still. Impossible, you jackass. I'm in the middle of giving birth to a field of watermelons. It can't be just one in there. They missed the second embryo on all the ultrasounds. I've got Godzilla pushing out of my body and you want me to be still? I hate you. I HATE you! I guess I couldn't do what he needed me to, because the next thing I know is this guy is saying, "Kristin, I really need you to sit still so I can get this into you and give you some relief". Mildly attractive man, I REALLY need you to try and push a tennis ball out of your penis and then come and tell me to sit still. Only then will you understand the true hell I'm in. I don't know how long this process actually takes and I also don't know the horror of nasty things I said to this gentlemen, but I know it worked. Somehow, some way, deep down inside of me, I found the strength to be still long enough for it to kick in.
10:45pm: I wish I could describe the pain leaving my body. As quickly as it came on, it quickly started to go away. It was like my contractions were coming back and I could get some relief between them. There were angels singing. Choirs rejoicing. (Although I don't know why, I forgot the prayer, for cryin' out loud). They sent Mike out before the guy got there to administer the epidural. After 45 minutes of pure torture, they let him in. I fixed my new no-pee-pee sheet like a sickly old southernly woman and turned the bed clothes down nice and neat, nevermind that 15 minutes before I was withering away in pain and begging the Lord to take me but save my baby. It had come to that. I try to do something with my drenched head, but realize like my modesty, sanity, and ability to do this ever again, it's a lost cause. Mike walks in and I'm a different person. There is no pain. I'm flipping through channels and thinking about what I want for a midnight snack. I could smoke a cigarette and I don't even smoke. I finally calmed down enough for my doctor to come back in and recheck me. I'm assuming she does her shove-in but at this point, bombs could've been going off around my cookie and I wouldn't have felt a thing.
With one arm hidden under the sheet, she grins up at me. "You're at 10 cm! Let's PUSH!"...FML.
**The saga continues in my next post, "THE Labor & Delivery, Part Two (& the first week home!)** Stay tuned.
