I used to write at Blogger and I thought I would go through some of my archives and post some of my older stuff. This is one I wrote about three months after Cole was born; at that time I was calling him Peanut and this is his(our) birthday story.
(originally posted in November, 2008)
Peanut’s Birth Story
After about eight months of a miserable pregnancy where I threw up every single thing that I put in my mouth and had the tendancy to pass out a lot, I went to my weekly doctor’s appointment and was told there was “some concern” about my blood pressure. I was sent home with a huge brown jug to collect my urine for twenty four hours, and within a couple of days the results were back from the lab and I was sitting in a hospital bed with IV’s hooked to various points on my arm. My blood pressure had skyrocketed and there was protein in my urine and my potassium levels were all wacked out… we were trying to wait until I was at least 35 weeks to take the baby. Of course I was completely stressed out and worried about my baby, and in the meantime I was getting sicker and sicker. I was light headed all the time, still barfing every five seconds, and in general just feeling like I had gotten run over by a truck.
I was floating in a haze of sickness and IV medication when the results from my latest lab work came back. I remember my doctor sitting on the edge of my bed and telling me that it was time, we needed to get the baby out. I wasn’t even that freaked out at that point, because I was so over being sick. I was actually grateful to see a light at the end of the tunnel. The doctor told A* and I that he was going to try and induce me first, and a c-section would be the last resort. A nurse came in and administered a dose of Cirvadil, something that was supposed to soften my cervix and start contractions. I kept getting the Cirvadil once every four hours, and though I was feeling some tiny contractions I wasn’t dialating at all. After twenty four hours I was only a centimeter and a half. Some of the medication they were giving me made me ungodly hot, and I was lying there with a cool cloth on my head sweating and cursing EVERYONE I COULD THINK OF and wondering if Hell maybe would be just a tad bit cooler than I was feeling right then, and my doctor reentered the room and said the magic words… “How about we stop fooling around and go ahead and do the c-section?” Yes, yes, please!!! “How about in 45 minutes?”
We had to make a million phone calls and I had to cry a little and with all that I hardly had time at all to be nervous. A crowd of family members crowded around my hospital bed and made ridiculous small talk. I had a moment to reflect that my father, my stepfather, my mother, my mother-in-law that doesn’t get along with my mother… all of them were in the same room and all of them were at least attempting to smile. Made me feel loved, for everyone to be all uncomfortable for me.
In no time at all, my mom was crying on my face and kissing me farewell, and everyone was touching my feet and calling out good wishes, and they wheeled me away to the operation room. I was concerned about A*, and where he would be, but the nurse assured me that as soon as I had my spinal he could join me in the operating room.
It was freeee–eee-zing in that stark white room, and I tried not to shake too hard as they sat me up and began to swab my back with something. I was worried that I might make them miss their mark or something, so I clenched my muscles as tightly as I could. I was thinking about not moving so much that the shot barely registered. The nurse told me that I would start feeling numb and oh! all of a sudden my left leg just collapsed over to the side and I started feeling warm again, traveling from my legs up my chest. They laid me down and started busily getting out insturments and setting up the sheet and oh God, where was A*?? They didn’t forget about him… and then I started feeling nauseous. I glanced back and caught the eye of some man and told him that I was going to throw up, and he put one of those basin things on the side of my face. It is weird, throwing up when you can’t feel anything below your chest. I vomitted pathetically into the pale pink basin and then had throw up all over the side of my face and couldn’t summon the strength to lift my arm and wipe it away. I cried a little. And then, like a miracle, A* was by my side. He smiled lovingly at me and I looked at him and said,”I barfed.”
He nodded and stroked the hair from my forehead. I asked him to scratch my nose for me, and he did. Things are a little fuzzy here, but I do remember the smell of (sorry) burnt flesh and the sound of some of the insturments, and I remember hearing a gush and A* saying in wonderment, “That was your water!” and then I don’t remember anything except hearing that tiny little cry. The cry! And I was so worried about his lungs because he was early, and that made my heart just sing to know that he had enough power to make that lusty screechy sound.
I called out weakly, “Is he okay? Is he okay?” but there was no one around to answer me. A* had abandoned me on the table as he went to marvel at his new son and there was a flurry of activity as nurses and doctors finished up their jobs. Finally he came back to my side and I could only see his eyes above the surgical mask, but they were glowing with something I had never seen in them before. His cheeks were a little wet and I could tell that he had the hugest smile ever, and he told me that we had a son, we had a son and he was perfect. He brought me a tiny bundle wrapped in white, and I folded down a corner of the blanket and gazed at this amazing little person, and for the first time in eight months I felt myself relax, because here was my son. Here was my son, and he was perfect.