Evacuation complete

Dear reader,
Don't read further.
I'm just saying.
-hh

Horror show

I don't know where to begin. First, at the end. I am a parent. Mom. Holy crap. Here's how I got there.

January 2012

• Unprotected Sex.

September 22, 2012

• 1:30 a.m. - Wake up with tiny baby contractions. So exciting. Tug on the belly muscles. About 12 minutes apart. Closing to 10 minutes as the early morning progresses. So, I watch a DVD about baby swaddling, Google some stuff about healthy eating while breastfeeding, check my email, start a little notepad to track contraction time and duration.
• 7:00 a.m. - Still awake. Time for breakfast and to make sure we have everything ready. Contractions are 6-8 minutes apart. Need food. Everyone says, "Stay at home as long as you can, because once the hospital ties you down to IVs and monitors, there's no more eating or drinking." So, that was our plan. Home labor as long as the nurse says it's OK.
• 8:00 a.m. - Breakfast! Contractions are getting a bit stronger, but the nurse says take some Extra Strength Tylenol and lie down for a while.
• 9:00 a.m. - Drive to Food Lion to get Tylenol and Gatorade. I had to hide behind a display of Ritz Crackers so I wouldn't freak out the other shoppers while gasping with my more-painful contractions.
• 11:00 a.m. - Tylenol slows everything down. I'm starting to get pissed off about that. I've been awake since 1 a.m., and now Google says pre-labor can last up to 24 hours. The contractions aren't horrible, but I still can't sleep through them. So, I'm tired and irritable and in the whole, "Is this ever going to happen?" Phase.
• 12:00 p.m. - Lunch! I take the whole, "Eat like you're going to run a marathon" seriously. I burn calories faster than the average person anyway, so there's no way I want to bonk during labor. Eat, eat, eat. Drink, drink, drink.
• 1:00 p.m. - Stupid labor. It's all hovering around 6-7 minutes apart, 30-55 seconds in duration. Now my lower back is starting to ache a little bit with each contraction, too, so maybe that's progress.
• 2:00 p.m. - Might as well do some work. Grammy Jackie and I start stuffing envelopes for a direct mail campaign. My back aches more each time a contraction comes, but I can bear it. No progress.
• 4:00 p.m. - Now shit is starting to hurt a bit more. Got the exercise ball so I can watch football during the pain - wooosahh - but we're going along OK. The nurse says to come in as soon as I feel like it - either five minutes apart or when the peak of the contraction takes my breath away.
• 5:30 p.m. - Dinner! I am wondering if each meal will be my last. I keep thinking, "Why does my back continue to ache? Isn't the uterus a huge muscle in my belly? What the hell?" I'm alternating between the ball, all fours, and having Dan shove his balled-up fists into my lower back as the contractions peak. Definitely taking my breath away.
• 7:30 p.m. - Driving to hospital. Three contractions in 12 minutes. I'm writhing in pain in the car. This doesn't seem like any f$*(#ing movie I've seen.
• 8:30 p.m. - Checked in to hospital and waiting for the doctor. I've got to get an IV, and I'm practically in tears, asking Dan if I can have an epidural. I didn't want an epidural, but I can't handle this pain. This excruciating, increasing, horrific, back pain. "Nurse Ashley, please give me drugs. Any drugs. Please. ARGGH!" Of course, only the doctor can prescribe drugs, so we wait and I have Dan massaging (i.e. kneading with fists) my lower back. 

Intermission: With regards to pain medication
My co-pregnant and previously pregnant friends all have varying views on pain medication. I, personally, didn't have a birth plan. It was "try to get as few drugs as possible, but if it's unbearable, ask for the drugs." I secretly hoped that my pain tolerance was high and I was warrior woman. When I realized that I couldn't do it without the epidural, I was crushed. IV drugs seemed OK, but I didn't really want to not feel anything. My friend M just had a baby boy a few weeks ago, and also had similar pain to mine - back pain. She had previously had a natural labor, but the pain here was too much, and she opted for the epidural. The word she used was "validating." It is validating to know that you're not alone and you're not a huge wimp if you have to reach out for help from God of Anesthesia.

• 9:30 p.m. - Doctor says, "You're at 4 cm." Me: "I need drugs. Seriously. Drugs. Anything. Please help me. Why does my back hurt?" Doctor: "Oh, you're having back labor." Me: "Excuse me? I don't give a shit. Give me drugs. ASAP. I want to die." Doctor to Dan and Jackie: "We are probably going to have a baby by 5 a.m." Me: "Oh, shit. I can't do this for another five hours!" Nurse: Giving me an injection into the IV tube.

Intermission: With regards to back labor
At this point, I have no idea what is happening. The Googles say that contraction pain starts in the back and radiates around to the belly. I know the contractions are getting stronger, but they're all in my back. I didn't know that such a thing as "back labor" existed. (Really? After all the time spent on the Googles, I didn't come across back labor? Probably because I refused to read anything that would lead me to worry about anything. The whole, "what if" this or "in rare cases" that. I avoided that content like the plague.)

During gestation, the doctors said everything was fine, so everything was fine. I did think my kid was on her side, but the doctors were all vague and like non-committal about her positioning, so I just went along with that, hoping for a routine delivery. Anyway, the lowdown on back labor, Googled after the fact is this (from moms):

• "Back labor is very, very, very, very, very painful"
• "My sister said it was like hot pokers from her lower back down through the backs of her legs, and my chiropractor gave a similar description - that the pain seems to be ongoing - it doesn't stop with contractions and that it extends from your lower back down through the backs of your legs."
• "My back felt like someone was pulling my back apart then stopping."

I abso-f-#$@ckn-lutely agree. Imagine giving some sturdy midget lumberjacks access to your lower back and spine with a full set of serrated bread knives. Yeah, those strong little bastards just saw on your spine, your muscles, your tailbone. It's excruciating, and you can't "relax" like the fucking nurse says you should. I'm curled into a tight ball every time the wave comes, literally begging for mercy from whatever horrific sins I've committed to deserve this. There is no joyful bringing of this beautiful child into the world together with Dan at my side, glowing. It's me, writhing in pain every three minutes, saying very mean things to everyone on the planet. Die midgets. Die.

• 9:31 p.m. - Stadol. Hallelujah. A warm, delicious envelopment of hospital-strength narcotics fills my whole body head to toe. Swimming in my brain as my cheeks get poofy and I say silly things like, "Wow, I can see the plus side to being a drug addict." I was high as a kite and in and out of clarity. Contractions came and went - oh, I could still feel them - and Dan's fists continued to massage me. I cursed the midgets. I cursed the pain, but with the edge off and the ability to do so colorfully with jokes and less panic. Woosah.

September 23, 2012

• 12:00 a.m. (-ish) - Literally, my eyes snap open. It's like someone turned off my drug pump or plugged me into my power source. All of my muscles are knotted and being serrated. My spine might tear apart. Now Grammy Jackie is kneading my back and Dan is massaging my hip tendons. I'm lying on my side and it's very obvious to me that the Stadol supply has run its course. More drugs. More. More. I'm practically frantic in my desire to take one of those knives from a midget, crawl into the pharmacy and start stabbing a pharmacist to get more drugs. If only I could roll over. I want this epidural N-O-W!
• 12:01 a.m. (-ish) - Panic, panic, panic. Pain, pain, pain. Dan is my breathing coach. Eye contact. Innnn - out, out, out. Innnnnn - out, out, out. I'm gripping his hand thinking, "Lock it up! You can't panic. Breathe. Follow instructions." I work hard to avoid hyperventilating. The nurse is giving more advice about not screaming and instead breathing.  I would rather scream, but I'm willing to try anything.
• 12:15 a.m. (-ish) - Doctor comes in. Time to "check progress." Him: "Can you roll onto your back for me after the contraction?" Me: "NO! The contraction isn't ENDING! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!?! [insert PAIN noises]; I HAVE TO POOP. [insert PAIN noises]; WHERE IS THE EPIDURAL?" (Note: You can't get an epidural right away, it takes 2-3 hours for the team to hydrate you with IV fluids so you can get the injection. So, at 12:15, I'm finally ready.) Him, wrestling me onto my back with everyone's help: "Oh! Well, we're at 8 or 9 cm." Me, with a complete clarity and understanding that epidural administration cannot take place after 8 cm has a fit of the whitest, hottest rage in the universe. Me: "YOU, YOU! You tricked me! You told me I could have an epidural! [insert PAIN noises] Now you say I can't! You didn't want me to have one in the first place, so you lied all along. Why did you do this? I need more drugs! ARCHAGHTSGH![insert PAIN noises]."  

Intermission for things said/cried:
Me: "The Ducks game started at 10:30, why can't I have an epidural?"
Me: "I would like a time machine to go back an un-have sex with you." Others in room: "Do we have to go?"
Me: "Guys (meaning everyone in the room) I don't think I can do this anymore. Can we please stop. I just think that I can't make it."
Me: "I wonder why they did that with their mailboxes? The mailboxes and the driveway are the same thing....What the hell am I saying?"
Me: "You'd better enjoy this, husband, because I'm never doing it ever again. ARGHAHCH!"
Me: "Me, guys I want to go home."
Me: "Guys, I don't want more contractions. I want more drugs."
Me: "Ice chips please, water please" (x1,000) Those bastards dehydrated me. I was parched the entire time.
Me, as my sweaty hair is sticking to my head and neck: "There HAS to be a goddamn piece of circle elastic in this place. I'm so HOT."
Me: "I must poop. I neeeeed to poop. Is this me needing to push? Ugh. Poooooooooop."

• 12:17 a.m. - Doctor to nurse: "Give her (some small dose) of (something)" Me: "I need to push. Seriously. If I can't have more drugs, I feel like pushing. It's like having to poop, right? Let me push." Doctor: "Yes, you can push." Exit stage left, Grammy Jackie.
• 12:18 a.m. - A bit more Stadol. Not nearly enough, but enough that I find this focus outside of myself. Sort of like what people that have taken LSD describe - the ability to be outside yourself, but still aware of yourself. I can feel everything, but I have this little blue place with a lot of light where I can visualize this baby descending. I can feel her moving south as I push.
• 12:20 - 1:50 a.m. - Pushing. This is not easy, but it's so much better than letting a contraction rip your body to shreds. You fight back. Seriously. BIG breath. Grip these conveniently placed handles down by your hips, and PUSH. Inhale, HOLD/PUSH: 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1 - Exhale, Inhale, HOLD/PUSH: 10,9,8....repeat. There are now breaks between contractions, thankfully. I keep asking, "Is she moving? Is it working?" Nurses: "Yes. You're fine. Just focus. Tuck your chin to your chest. Try to hold the tension between breaths and...." Inhale, HOLD/PUSH: 10, 9, 8,.... It's so crazy that I was sort of high, but I don't know what I would have done without the IV drugs. I could feel her head, I could feel the pressure, the stretching, more pressure. My abs fatigued on the third set of 10 in each contraction and I didn't know if I could go on. Nurse Ashley took a towel and tied a knot in one end and I gripped it. She pulled one end, I pulled the other end through a few contractions. I kept going to my blue place and feeling/seeing the head get closer and closer to being through. They told me they could see her hair. I could see her hair. I could.

Intermission for disgusting things:
Peeing on the staff - check
Tearing - check
Pooping - check, I think, but minor

• 1:40 a.m. - Doctor is in place and I'm pushing like a champion. There is a huge tray of surgical instruments off to his right, and I swear I almost panicked. Me: "Is everything normal? Are we getting there?" Everyone: "YES! Ready to go again? Let's push!" BREATHE, PUSH, VISUALIZE. Doctor is giving me local anesthetic, and it feels like tiny bee stings and I don't even flinch.
• 1:57 a.m. - Doctor: "OK! Here we go! PUSH. You're going to feel some burning. PUSH."

Result: Baby. 
Conceived on game day, born on game day. The circle is complete.

That random extra footage during the credits:
Stitches
Cutting the cord
Staring into crying baby face
Exhaustion, so much in fact that I needed Dan's arms to help me hold my baby for the first time because I am shaking with weakness
Holding baby for the first time
Photos
Random bouts of shuddering/shivering
Baby declared perfect
Dan shows me the Ducks score. My first laugh in hours.

Finale

• Oh, now the big question (say this with one of those sickly sweet voices, full of patronizing mommy-love syrup, that stupid people use): "Wasn't it all worth it when you held her in your arms for the first time?"
• Answer: I am not dignifying this question with a response.