I can count the last two weeks in increments of two hours, rubbing my
eyes to stay awake long enough to do so, careful to turn on many lights
preventing my drifting off to sleep in the middle of my story.
I. Am. Tired.
Tired
is insanely wonderful and horrifically lovely. Tired means I am
spending sweet moments gazing at my daughter's face while she is
nourished. Tired suggests euphoria...when those heavy little eyes close
and her tiny lungs calm down.
I wouldn't trade her for a good night's sleep.
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Oct. 19, 2014 - We had Chinese for dinner and were given 3 fortune cookies. This one was legitimately Alia's.
"A small gift can bring joy to the whole family." She is our gift! |
Alia
is two weeks and five days old. When I was a kid, I used to count in
years, sometimes half years (I'm not 9!! I am 9 and-a-half, thank you
very much!). High school and college made me count in semesters
(sometimes I still do that!). After grad school, I started counting in
months, or at least planning life out a month in advance. Pregnancy
forced me to count in weeks. Late pregnancy had me counting in days. I
suppose now I'm back to an odd mixture of weeks and days, which will
soon spread out into months (no, I probably won't be saying "36 weeks"
when she's 9 months...but I'm not making any promises). All that to say
-- Alia is two weeks and five days old!
I had every
intention of posting the labor story on her 2 week birthday, but have I
mentioned I'm tired?? I have new-found appreciation for
Frozen:
the wisest thing I can do in motherhood so far is "let it go" (you're
welcome for that song in your head for the next week). Let the
preconceived plans of picture-perfect motherhood go (i.e. taking an
adorable photo every day, dressing her in a new, cute outfit every day,
etc) and choose not to be disappointed in yourself. Hey, sometimes
diapers and receiving blankets are best! I'm happy to say I have very
few illusions of grandeur when it comes to being the "perfect mom" or
the "photo worthy mom". (Side note: this is why I stay off of
Pinterest. Have you ever heard of someone battling their
"photo-worthiness"? Oh, it exists.) I guess my goal in motherhood is to
love well and raise a kid who loves Jesus and people so much she could
burst. Hmm...another blogpost, another time. SO! The need/desire to post
the labor story exactly two weeks after it happened? I (
cue music) let it go...let it goooo!
So without further ado, in all its gory detail, but lack of horror stories:
Alia Grace: A Labor Story
Sunday, Oct. 5, 2014
Lots
of crying. At exactly one week late, I was more and more nervous about
the clock ticking down to my scheduled induction on Tuesday morning.
After a week and a half of raspberry leaf tea, miles of walking, hours
of bouncing on the medicine ball, spending time with my husband,
neck/ankle/foot massages, and commanding my child to come out, I was
distraught. I had been having contractions on and off since my OB had
stripped the membranes on Friday. They were more intense than the false
alarm labor the week before, but very irregular and not really painful
at all.
By Sunday, I felt a tad failure-ish. It did
NOT help that at least 4 friends had had babies that week. When was it my
turn?? Could I please, God, go naturally and not be induced??
So I cried. A lot.
Landon's
parents got in to town that evening. My mom, if you remember, had
already been here for nearly a week and a half by then. Though I felt
rude, I excused myself for a nap. Something in me told me I was going
to need it. After a few hours, I felt much better.
And then the contractions started. I was thrilled.
They increased in frequency and intensity until about 12:30am when I decided it was time to start tracking them.
Monday, Oct. 6, 2014
By
1:30am, the tracking paid off. It had been a solid hour of 2-4 minute
apart contractions. It was time to call the doctor. Of course, I knew
that I would most likely not see my actual doctor. She had been on call
that weekend and always has Mondays off. Sure enough, a different doctor, Dr. R called us
back and said she'd notify the hospital that we were on our way.
We snapped a few "last baby bump" pictures, dropped my mom off at the parking garage where my car was, and were on our way!
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| Oct. 6, 2014 - Last Baby Bump |
We
were shown to a labor and delivery room and met our nurse around 2am. I
was at 4cm, half a centimeter more than I had been on Friday. Nurse C
called the doctor to give her an update and returned later with an IV
and a bag of fluid. "This means you're staying!" she cheerfully
chirped. I had mixed feelings -- Yay! We're staying! No! That means I
get an IV! I did my best. I firmly clenched Landon's hand and kept my
eyes fixed on his. And then I threw up twice. Charming, I know. I
just don't do well with needles. I was very, very intentional about
moving my IV'ed arm and using my hand, though it took me a while to do
much with it. I was so incredibly
aware that it was there. I could feel it. I hated it.
I
was on the monitors on and off for a few hours, so we took the
opportunity to try and nap here and there. Unfortunately, Nurse C came
back to tell me that my contractions had slowed down to 6-8 minutes
apart. We got out of the room and walked the halls for awhile
(unknowingly going past our boundary. Oops!). The contractions kicked
back in at 2-4 minutes apart again. Still manageable, but painful
enough that I didn't want to talk through them.
We
returned to our room in time for the shift change. We sadly said
goodbye to Nurse C -- she had been so wonderful. Very patient,
compassionate, and understanding. She also told us that Dr. R was no
longer on call and Dr. W would be in soon to make his assessment of the
situation.
Meanwhile Nurse E came in and introduced
herself. She then proceeded to do the worst cervix check ever. Nazi
fingers, I tell ya. In fact, she was having such a hard time actually
finding my cervix that I begged for a break and re-do. It was not
pleasant!! I was still at 4cm. Disappointing.
We got
up and walked some more. Contractions continued about 2-4 minutes
apart. Dr. W never came in. Nurse E came back awhile later and told us
that now Dr. G would be looking after us, and she was suggesting
pitocin and/or breaking my water. I told her I was not in a rush and we
would like to try to continue naturally. She rather skeptically
respected that and said she'd be back later.
We had
been up all night, so again we tried the nap thing. Again, contractions
slowed down. Again, we tried walking. Again, they sped up. But they
were not increasing in intensity. Around noon, Nurse E came back and
strongly recommended pitocin again. Dr. G had suggested that we go home
and wait out early labor in the comfort of our own space. That was NOT
an option I was willing to consider. We were not leaving the hospital
without a baby in our arms!! Nurse E left to allow us to discuss our
options.
Basically, as much as I did not want to be
induced, if things didn't pick up naturally, it was inevitably going to
happen the next morning. I honestly didn't want to go through the
trauma of removing the IV only to have another one placed the following
morning. No way. Plus, the nurse had made a good point - if we waited
much longer to move things along, I would be exhausted when it came time
for me to really act. I was already tired from being up nearly all
night. So after weighing our options, we opted for pitocin. We
staunchly held off on breaking my water except as a last resort.
Nurse
E almost gleefully agreed with us, saying that she would start things
off slowly, only increasing the pitocin by 1ml per hour and continuously
re-evaluate. If my body took over, then she would decrease the pitocin
or discontinue it altogether. That appealed to me. She said she would
go take her half hour lunch and be back to start it.
She came back over 2 hours later. Ugh. Not my favorite nurse we encountered.
It
was a little after 3pm when she started the pitocin drip. I was now
chained to the IV bag and had to work past my phobia of actually using
the IV. As soon as it started, my hand and arm became very cold. I
could feel it coursing through my veins. I hated it.
I
decided that since all of my own efforts in moving labor along had
failed, I would take the time to actually nap until the pitocin kicked
in. It would do its thing without any help from me and I could use the
rest. I got a good 2ish hours of much needed sleep.
About
5:30, Nurse E came to tell us that her other patient was about to start
pushing and she was handing us off to someone else. I honestly don't
remember who this other nurse was. I don't remember her name or what
she looked like because I think we only saw her twice and I was in and
out of sleep. The big change that came with her was also a doctor
change and a difference of opinion in pitocin. We hadn't actually seen a
doctor all day, and we were handed off to Dr. R again - the original
one we had spoken with during the initial phone call. She wanted
pitocin increased by 1ml every half hour -- double the rate we had been
going.
6:30pm -- The pitocin kicked in
hard. I
had been feeling an increase in frequency and pressure, but now they
hurt and they hurt a lot. Now I started needing breathing techniques to
get through them.
Dr. R actually came in to see us
around 7ish - right in the middle of a contraction. It was kind of
comical how people would pause their conversation until contractions
would finish. I was reminded of jet noise in Virginia Beach, except
that jet noise never hurt your insides. She introduced herself between
contractions and spoke to us about our plan for progressing labor. She
asked how far I was dilated. I told her that I had been 4cm at 7:30am.
"You haven't been checked since then??" she asked incredulously. Nope,
I hadn't. She checked and - yay! - I was 6cm and 90% effaced.
Awesome. Progress had been happening! She wanted to move things along
and said someone would come in soon to break my water. We had been
apprehensive of this because it puts you on an 18 hour clock and
increases the risk of infection. However, I did not exactly want to be
in labor for the next 18 hours either! So we agreed.
The
shift change happened again at 7:30ish and Nurse C was back! I was
thrilled to see her again. She was looking much more refreshed than she
had at 3am (small wonder!) and was ready to help me have this baby! A
resident came in and broke my water. I had been told by others that it
really hurt when that happened, but honestly, it didn't hurt a bit.
There was actually a bit of relief that spread through me as warm liquid
flooded out of me. It also felt like progress. I was clinging to
anything that felt like progress. Granted, now I was a mess, but who
said labor was tidy??
Early in the day I had heard the
woman laboring in the room next to me. She wasn't all that quiet, and I
smiled a bit thinking, "Well, that's the way she is reacting, I wonder
how I will react??" Nurse E had told us she was going unmedicated,
too. I will tell you how I reacted.
It wasn't pretty.
My throat was sore for a few days.
We
had gone through the unmedicated childbirth class and learned breathing
techniques and positions to alleviate pain, etc. I felt very prepared.
I wasn't.
We
never got past 7ml of pitocin an hour, and I am SO glad. That was
plenty. I'm curious what natural active labor contractions are like
because I know that pitocin creates stronger, longer contractions.
Yeah. They hurt. I breathed. I vocalized. I yelled. I screamed. At
one point, my throat was sore and dry and I actually choked a bit on a
scream that wouldn't come out, but I absolutely needed to make some sort
of sound. I consciously thought, "Put it up in a singing range." So I
did. I mentioned it to Landon later and he said, "Yes! I noticed that!
I actually thought to myself - is she singing right now??" Obviously,
he didn't point it out in the moment (smart man), but it certainly
helped. When we had told my OB months and months ago that I was going to
try going unmedicated, she supported us but also let us know that going
that route can get rather "primal". She was right. I am not ashamed.
;)
I know it was hard on Landon because here I was
ignoring his breathing coaching. He had to watch as his wife was
mercilessly attacked by her own body. He was fantastic through it all -
applying counter pressure, letting me rest into him, holding my hand,
wetting my face and neck with a cold washcloth, giving me water, and
encouraging me the entire time. He was absolutely amazing.
At
this point, my concept of time gets fuzzy. I think it was around
8:30/9 that I moved from the chair that I had been straddling (an
excellent place to endure contractions and help them along, I might
add!) to the bed for a little relief. Landon was in bed behind me,
holding me, and helping me relax. Finally, I asked a little pitifully,
"Is it time to push yet??" "Do you feel like you need to?" Nurse C
responded. "Yes," I answered, praying I was right. Nope. 8cm. She
told me absolutely not to push because if I did too soon, it could cause
the cervix to swell and we'd be moving backwards. Awhile later, I
asked again. Nope. Still 8 cm. Some time later, again. "Not yet, you
still have some cervix left." She stopped using numbers -- because I
was still at 8cm.
She suggested I get in the tub, I
think to slow things down a little bit and give me a chance to rest.
Very, very sadly, I was not able to use the jets because I was on the
portable monitors necessary with pitocin and they would just pick up the
jets and not the baby's heartbeat. That was probably the most
disappointing part of it all -- I had been looking forward to the
jacuzzi tub!! She insisted though that I resist every urge to push and
that if suddenly the only thing in the world I could possibly do was
push we must pull the nurse call cord.
The bath
helped a little bit. I was actually able to breath through a few
contractions instead of yell through them. Then suddenly, the only
thing in the world I could possibly do was push. I screamed to Landon
to pull the cord. Three nurses ran in and Nurse C shouted, "Out! Get
out NOW!" They supported me back to the bed where we again heard, "I'm
so sorry, you still have some cervix left." She offered me the medicine
ball to sit on which had been wonderful for early labor but was
terrible for transition. I got caught trying to sit on it as a
contraction started. I was stuck - I couldn't sit and I couldn't stand
up either. I was sort of bent-kneed and freaking out, feeling like I was
splitting in two.
The contraction finally passed and I
sat down with new resolution. "Alright, what are my options for pain
management??" I desperately asked. Nurse C offered, "I can give you
fentanyl. It will take the edge off and wear away in 20 minutes."
"Let's do it!" I didn't even care that I was aiming for unmedicated
anymore. Pitocin-induced contractions are no joke and I was
exhausted.
She put the drugs in my IV and warned me that
if I felt dizzy to let her know, that it might cause me to take a
little nap. "Sure thing," I said. "I'm feeling okay....okay, I'm
dizzy." Suddenly I was very dizzy. She helped me into the bed and I
was incredibly out of it. Not completely unconscious or asleep, but
definitely in a weird trance-like state. The following is very fuzzy
for me.
I was freezing, and my dress was wet from
falling in the bathtub at the last second. Nurse C worked quickly to
disconnect the IV, pull the dress off, and reconnect the IV -- and it
didn't bother me at all -- proof of how out of it I was. I remember
just lying there, barely able to keep my eyes open, completely oblivious
to time, hearing voices very distantly. The contractions still hurt,
but the edge was taken off enough that I could breathe forcefully
through them.
At some point, Landon and I were left
alone. I was covered in two blankets to try to calm the shivering.
Suddenly, several monitors started beeping. No one came in to check on
them, so Landon went out and grabbed a nurse (whom we had never seen
before) and voiced his concerns. She checked the monitors and
incorrectly assumed that the blood pressure monitor on my finger had
fallen off. Nurse C came in quickly, told the other nurse that she had
given me fentanyl, called over to me - "Give me some deep breaths. I
need you to breathe deeply!" - and grabbed an oxygen bag and put it on
my face. I vaguely heard her, but started to take deep breaths. Landon
kept coaching me through them, but I was still in and out of
consciousness.
After a while, I started to snap out of
the stupor and it dawned on me -- the fentanyl was going to wear off
soon. I couldn't fathom going back to the crazy hard contractions again
so I asked for another dose, a request that was refused because it
can't be administered within an hour of delivery due to causing
breathing problems for the baby. That was
not what I wanted to
hear. I think I may have actually whimpered at that point. So, very
resolutely, I said, "Alright, it's time for the epidural. We still have
time, right??" Nurse C assured me that yes, there was still time for
it, but decided to check my progress again first.
"Hon,"
she said, "you're at 9.5cm. These next few contractions are going to
open you right up. You've come this far -- you can do it without the
epidural!!" She was very encouraging, and I'm glad she was. I had
indeed come that far without it and my baby would have most likely been
delivered before it even kicked in. A few wretched contractions later, I
said, "I've been resisting the urge the push -- please say it's time!"
She checked and a smile spread across her face. "You're at 10! It's
time! Let's try a practice push during your next contraction."
Oh
my word. It felt so good to push. I felt like I was controlling the
contraction instead of the contraction controlling me. After pushing
through the first one, she said, "Alright! It's time. I'm going to go
call the doctor." THAT was agony. I had to resist pushing through two
contractions while she was gone. The doctor was ten minutes away, so a
resident came in to assist just in case she was needed. In fact, quite a
few people were coming in and out and getting things set up and ready
-- and I couldn't have cared less. All I knew was that it felt so good
to push. Coming off a contraction did not feel great, but knowing that I
was actually in the home stretch was amazing.
The doctor
came in (again, not my doctor, but the one who was on call), got herself
settled, demanded goggles, and barely interacted with me for awhile.
Again, I am so thankful for such an amazing nurse! She was SO
encouraging and empowering. She held one of my legs while Landon held
the other and coached me through. Landon was able to see the whole
thing --- sidenote, they didn't have him wear a gown or gloves or
anything. Is that the new norm?
A little bit into it, Dr.
R had me hold off on pushing. "You're about to tear," she said. "The
thing is, you're going to tear up. I can cut down so you don't tear up.
You have a ridiculously long perineum so it will be fine. But I don't
think you want to tear up." Well, she was right. I also didn't want an
episiotomy, but given the risk involved, I agreed. She quickly
administered lidocaine, which felt like insulting little pinches where
no one should be pinching, made the cut and told me I could push again.
Nurse
C had mentioned, "Now, you're going to feel the Ring of Fire. Push
through it. You'll want to pull back, but don't do it. Take another
breath and get right back there." However, since the lidocaine was
involved, it was like half a ring of fire, not nearly as bad I had
expected.
They had offered me a mirror to see it all and
I very strongly refused. No thank you! I did not need to see all
that. Maybe the next kid. But from the angle I was at, I saw exactly
what I needed to see. First, a dark, cone-shaped, very goopy head.
Then - the most beautiful little purple face in profile. I gasped when I
saw her. My heart stood a little still. "Another push! Don't stop!"
Her chin, her nose, her shoulders, then all of her! 45 minutes of
pushing and Dr. R pulled her right out. She was born at 11:53pm. I
exclaimed, "Landon is going to cut the cord!!!" I was afraid she was
just going to do it, not being "my" doctor. He cut the cord and they
put her on my belly.
"Oh my goodness! She's a
little human!" is what I'm pretty sure I said. I didn't cry, wasn't
flooded with love, but oh I was full of adoration, wonder, awe. She was
whimpering and squirming. A nurse was rubbing her down with a towel,
putting a hat on her head, making her cry. Landon was by my side, but
behind her head. He was welcoming Little One to the world. She heard
his familiar voice, her eyes flew open, she was turning her head to find
the source of his voice. Her hand was above her head, he touched it
with his finger, she clamped on to his finger and held it tightly. Oh,
it all happened so fast!
"Does she have a name?"
someone asked. We looked at each other. "Sort of..." I said. "What do
you think?" he said. "I think I like what we talked about," I said.
"Let's do it," he said. "Alia Grace," I told the nurse. "Alia Grace
Tucker."
I'm tearing up just thinking about it. This
little girl was born through great pain, placed in my arms, welcomed to
the world, and named -- given a place in the world. My little girl.
Our little girl. Our precious, beautiful little girl.
 |
Immediately after giving birth. Just kidding. The next day after sleep, hairbrush, and makeup. ;)
But I DID wear the pearls during delivery. I had to have some touch of pretty. ;) |
The
next few minutes weren't incredibly fun as I was told to keep pushing
to birth the placenta, then endured the tugging of the stitches, then
cried out as they pushed on my uterus to keep it contracting. It was not
pleasant. You'd think that after all that trauma you'd be done.
Nope.
Soon it was time to eat. From the moment she
was born, Alia was playing with tongue and rooting around. At our first
feeding attempt, she latched right on with a perfect latch. It was a
beautiful moment. She's been an amazing eater/latcher ever since!
The
rest is a crazy blur. Parents came in to meet her and take a million
photos, nurses came in to measure her and give her first shots, Nurse C
came in to help me to the bathroom (terrifying!), and we moved to
post-partum where we had amazing nurses and wonderful care. All I
really knew was I was exhausted and no longer pregnant. My baby was
here.
I have slices of memories that I can't place in
the timeline that are special to me. Landon playing his guitar...my mom
sending me songs that she listened to during her labor with me...a bag
of animal crackers on the bed in front of the chair I straddled so I
could reward myself after each contraction...Landon rewrapping my IV
cover tenderly so I would be less aware of it...the last time I remember
feeling Alia move inside...the look on my mom's face when I handed her
Alia for the first time... It's really crazy to think through it all.
The entire experience was completely surreal.
Would I
do again without the epidural? Umm...it's way too soon to think about
another child right now. Stop that. I would prefer not to be induced
again, that's for sure.
So that's the labor story! All in all, it went well. It wasn't exactly
the way I had envisioned it, but who can really know until you
experience it? I was grateful that I had absolutely no back labor, that
I hadn't torn, that the cut was easily repaired, that although I was
willing to give in to the epidural it didn't happen, and that I had an
amazing husband to help me through it all. Bottom line?? I am SO GLAD I am not pregnant anymore. Whew!
And of course...I am so in love with my daughter, Alia Grace Tucker.
 |
| Oct. 7, 2014 - Less than an hour old |
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| Oct. 7, 2014 - 16ish hours old |
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| Oct. 8, 2014 - 1 1/2 days old |
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