So, I didn't get the natural birth I so desperately wanted. But I sure as heck wasn't going to give up on successful breastfeeding. No how!
I was asked at the hospital several times for the record whether I was planning on breastfeeding or formula feeding. I proudly answered each time that I intended to breastfeed. Having a c-section automatically precluded me from having an optimal start, since I, and Lily by proxy, had to have significant anesthesia from the surgery and couldn't be together right away. In the first attempts, we were both quite sleepy and so hoped it would go better next time.
In the Mother Baby room the first night, Lily was brought to me every three hours to keep trying nursing. I would express a little colostrum (which always excited the nurses when a few drops would appear, and I found that slightly amusing) and try to get her interested, but she was always either too sleepy or not interested in latching. Add to that the fact that I was still very groggy and on heavy painkillers, not to mention unable to use my abdominal muscles and therefore fairly immobile and helpless to get her into a good position on my own, and it's clear we started with a few setbacks.
But for some reason that I now attribute to Hypnobabies, I stayed calm. We would eventually learn and she would eat and be nourished. For now, she barely needed anything and I knew I had colostrum for her. It's a very good thing I stayed calm. The second night in the hospital, Lily was screaming and crying and wouldn't latch. The nurse was there helping me. Well, not really helping, as she kept suggesting we just give her a little bit of formula. That was so annoying! One of the easiest ways to undermine the breastfeeding relationship right off the bat is to give unnecessary supplements with an artificial nipple. I ignored the nurse's suggestions as I tried on my own to get Lily to latch. Then she made a new suggestion: "What if I just get a little bit of formula to put on your nipple to try to get her to latch?"
"Sure, do that," I said. I could see everyone would benefit if there was just one less person in the room. The nurse left to go get a bottle and within two minutes the crying stopped and Lily was eating. It was a personal victory for me that we never had to use that formula. I was annoyed that I pretty much had to use deception to get rid of someone who was supposed to be helping me, but thankfully that was not the attitude of the whole staff.
And even though I wasn't worried, Lily's weight kept coming off. At 8lbs 6oz, she had lost a little more than 7% of her birth weight when we left the hospital on Monday. I had an appointment with the lactation consultant the following Friday. In the meantime, we kept working at it.
When we took her to the doctor on Wednesday, my milk had finally just come in. The nurse put her on the scale and said, "I'm getting eight pounds on the nose." My heart sank. She lost six ounces in two days? I thought she was eating! I knew we were still getting the hang of this, but I didn't think it was going badly. Seeing a horrified mommy, the nurse checked the calibration of the scale and reweighed her. This time it was 8lbs 8oz. So, two ounces in two days. Perfect! The doctor was pleased.
Then Friday rolled around and we took Lily to the hospital for our visit with the lactation consultant. Not having read the directions left to us (lack of sleep made us irresponsible, I guess), we went to the wrong part of the hospital, and I hadn't brought any supplies I was using, such as the manual breast pump or the parts to the hospital pump I had been given. Our lactation consultant's name was Sue and we had met her in the hospital during our stay. She is right up there among the people who are the nicest in the world. But she raised her eyebrows at my engorgement and seemed concerned about that. We got Lily on the digital scale, the same type she was weighed on at her discharge: 8lbs 3oz. Not good. She had continued to lose weight after my milk came in and she lost more than 10% of her birth weight. Not good.
Sue had me hand express as much milk as possible into a towel before putting Lily to the breast. I was just so clueless. Lily did latch but we found her to be ineffective. She swallowed infrequently, and she made smacking sounds. Sue found that she has a high palate, which makes nursing difficult. I was given things to try, like breast compression, and was told to feed her every 2-3 hours round the clock for at least 20-30 minutes worth of frequent swallowing. But Lily was a very sleepy newborn and it was sometimes difficult to wake her up. And at night, even though I set alarms, I couldn't wake up to feed her and many nights she was happy to sleep for a 4-5 hour stretch. So on top of sleep deprivation, I worried constantly about whether she was eating enough.
We returned the following Monday, and she had gained almost 4 ounces, which was right on target. We made an appointment for a week hence to check her weight. After another week, she had gained a little less than 4 ounces and was just barely up to her birth weight. NOT so good. Not alarming, but not good. We hunkered down and I did little else but encourage Lily to drink her fill, perfecting her latch, persistently burping her. No one had yet mentioned supplementing her diet, and I didn't want to get to that point.
Lily got gradually less sleepy and more interested in nursing. The smacking continued, but we were getting somewhere. After another five days, she finally, FINALLY gained the target ounce-per-day and was safely above her birth weight. I didn't need to return to the LC, but I have to say I think about Sue often and kind of miss her. I've looked for reasons to go back, as I've seen Lily through setbacks in her nursing. She's already had a few mild colds and an ear infection, through which we discovered a possible penicillin allergy. I'm disappointed that she's had illness. I thought breastfed babies were supposed to get fewer ear infections! The antibodies! The wonderful, magical properties of breast milk! But despite each setback, Lily always continued to make improvements and I never did have to drag her back to the LC.
Just when I thought the smacking would never stop, it did. Her palate has flattened out or she's just finally good enough at sucking that she can nurse pretty quickly and effectively. She's been sleeping through the night for several weeks now, though there are the off nights that she wakes up to eat. Each time we've been to the doctor, she's been in the 90th percentile for length and ~60th for weight. I confess I'm proud of her delightful little chubs. She's never had a drop of formula in her life (unless they snuck her some in the hospital), and her health is a testament to our hard work.
I'm glad I know how to breastfeed now. My next baby and I will be 50% better off (hopefully even better, if I get my VBAC!), though I understand a lot depends on the baby. I may have a whole different host of problems, but I've learned a lot this time around. And I'm extremely grateful that I didn't have more issues than a sleepy baby such as thrush, mastitis, cracked and bleeding nipples, etc.
I don't care what anyone says, you can be doing everything right and it will still hurt. And nursing isn't totally free if you factor in the electric pump (I have a relatively inexpensive one, but it still wasn't cheap), bottles for the one or two times per week I have to be away from her, nursing pillow, and special wardrobe items. Still, the two words I would use to describe breastfeeding in general are: WORTH. IT.
I may doubt my body's ability to bring a baby into this world, but I know that it can nourish a baby, and that helps a lot.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Birth Story, Part 5: The Birth
Time flies when you are finally no longer pregnant or recovering from surgery, freeing you up to become some sort of super-wife who keeps the house clean and does laundry!
Back to the story, and sorry for the delay:
Once I sadly nodded my consent for a surgery I really, really didn't want, the whole mood changed. Extra nurses showed up and put my lower legs in compression socks. The Pitocin drip was stopped. The anesthesiologist (the same good-looking one from my first D&C, I believe) came in to prepare me for the spinal and drink some horrible antibiotic. This was really one of the worst times of the day. It didn't feel like it was all about getting to meet my baby soon. I knew I wouldn't get to hold her right away, and I was about to be sliced open. Those aren't happy thoughts. I had to comply with everything the team of professionals told me to do, but at every turn my mind screamed in protest: I did not want this. I had no choice.
I pretty much cried continuously. As I got wheeled down the hall, probably looking like the saddest person in the world, several nurses tried to comfort me by telling me I was going to meet my baby soon. Well, yes, but... you know.
We got into the OR, which was about 30 degrees, cold and sterile. Oh, and the effects of the Pitocin had not worn off, and I had all but abandoned my relaxation for emotional turmoil, so I was now in pretty bad physical pain with each joke of a contraction, freezing cold, shaking, and very sad for myself. I had to sit very still for the spinal which was trying. The surgery prep seemed to take forever, though I suppose I should be glad it wasn't a true emergency c-section as I have a better hope for a VBAC in this case. Shivering and shaking, I was laid out, numbed from the chest down, arms spread out crucifixion-style, Erich was allowed in, and then they cut me open.
A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist told me to expect some pulling and tugging. And I did. There was absolutely no pain, but it also felt like my whole torso was being kneaded like bread dough. For the first and only time, I felt like I might throw up.
That feeling passed quickly, as Dr. P announced, "It's a baby girl! And she's big, eight pounds, I think." Less than a minute later, a doctor or nurse or someone weighed her and announced triumphantly: "NINE pounds, one ounce!" Big baby! No wonder I felt like a whale! Dr. P said in a I-told-you-so voice, "In another week she would have been ten pounds." For the sake of cordiality, I replied, "Okay, you win."
(Time-out, though. Let's just remember that I had been on IV fluids for about 28 hours by this point. I'm sure this effected Lily's birth weight.)
Someone in scrubs flashed her into my view from across the room and my first thought, which I may have said out loud, was, "Oh my gosh, she looks like me." And she does. Once I get a scanned copy of my newborn mug shot, I'll show you.
After she got all wiped up, Erich got to hold her by my face while I covered her in kisses. It was lovely to have an outside baby right there, but it just couldn't be real until I could hold her in my arms. There's another c-section drawback.
I got stitched up and wheeled to recovery. I had to be able to move my feet before they would let me hold Lily, so I patiently waited till that happened. Well, I wasn't so patient as completely exhausted. Finally, finally I got to hold my baby after who knows how much time had passed. She was quite sleepy as we tried nursing and not much happened. Despite my preparations, I really couldn't tell if she was latching.
More time passed and I was wheeled up to the Mother Baby unit. I had to scoot my half-numb, super-swollen, recently-de-babied self over to the bed. That must have been amusing to watch. My heart was full of joy just knowing I had a baby... out there, somewhere. I was way too tired to insist on keeping her with me, so I tried to sleep. That would have been easier if the nurse hadn't kept jabbering on about newborn stuff and handing me pieces of paper. I was going cross-eyed and clearly wasn't absorbing anything she said. WHY WOULDN'T SHE LET ME SLEEP. And then, when I was left alone, I couldn't sleep because my compression boots periodically squeezed my lower legs to prevent clots and the IV made buzzing sounds each time it went off every few minutes.
And the rest is recovery. I'll probably post about that too, but this concludes the birth and events leading up to it. I'd like to reiterate that my very disappointing experience did nothing to diminish my love for my baby. But to be honest, for a few weeks, every time I looked at her bulbous little 14.5-inch head, I felt the slightest twinge of resentment, as I had been made to believe that this was the main reason she wouldn't come out. (I later decided this is hogwash: clearly the Pitocin failed to bring on truly effective contractions.)
I've finally gotten to the point where I can say out loud "I had a c-section" and not risk welling up. The fire in my belly has been lit and I will do everything I can to ensure I will have a VBAC next time. The first step is firing my doctors. More on that later!
Thanks for reading my saga.
Back to the story, and sorry for the delay:
Once I sadly nodded my consent for a surgery I really, really didn't want, the whole mood changed. Extra nurses showed up and put my lower legs in compression socks. The Pitocin drip was stopped. The anesthesiologist (the same good-looking one from my first D&C, I believe) came in to prepare me for the spinal and drink some horrible antibiotic. This was really one of the worst times of the day. It didn't feel like it was all about getting to meet my baby soon. I knew I wouldn't get to hold her right away, and I was about to be sliced open. Those aren't happy thoughts. I had to comply with everything the team of professionals told me to do, but at every turn my mind screamed in protest: I did not want this. I had no choice.
I pretty much cried continuously. As I got wheeled down the hall, probably looking like the saddest person in the world, several nurses tried to comfort me by telling me I was going to meet my baby soon. Well, yes, but... you know.
We got into the OR, which was about 30 degrees, cold and sterile. Oh, and the effects of the Pitocin had not worn off, and I had all but abandoned my relaxation for emotional turmoil, so I was now in pretty bad physical pain with each joke of a contraction, freezing cold, shaking, and very sad for myself. I had to sit very still for the spinal which was trying. The surgery prep seemed to take forever, though I suppose I should be glad it wasn't a true emergency c-section as I have a better hope for a VBAC in this case. Shivering and shaking, I was laid out, numbed from the chest down, arms spread out crucifixion-style, Erich was allowed in, and then they cut me open.
A few minutes later, the anesthesiologist told me to expect some pulling and tugging. And I did. There was absolutely no pain, but it also felt like my whole torso was being kneaded like bread dough. For the first and only time, I felt like I might throw up.
That feeling passed quickly, as Dr. P announced, "It's a baby girl! And she's big, eight pounds, I think." Less than a minute later, a doctor or nurse or someone weighed her and announced triumphantly: "NINE pounds, one ounce!" Big baby! No wonder I felt like a whale! Dr. P said in a I-told-you-so voice, "In another week she would have been ten pounds." For the sake of cordiality, I replied, "Okay, you win."
(Time-out, though. Let's just remember that I had been on IV fluids for about 28 hours by this point. I'm sure this effected Lily's birth weight.)
Someone in scrubs flashed her into my view from across the room and my first thought, which I may have said out loud, was, "Oh my gosh, she looks like me." And she does. Once I get a scanned copy of my newborn mug shot, I'll show you.
After she got all wiped up, Erich got to hold her by my face while I covered her in kisses. It was lovely to have an outside baby right there, but it just couldn't be real until I could hold her in my arms. There's another c-section drawback.
I got stitched up and wheeled to recovery. I had to be able to move my feet before they would let me hold Lily, so I patiently waited till that happened. Well, I wasn't so patient as completely exhausted. Finally, finally I got to hold my baby after who knows how much time had passed. She was quite sleepy as we tried nursing and not much happened. Despite my preparations, I really couldn't tell if she was latching.
More time passed and I was wheeled up to the Mother Baby unit. I had to scoot my half-numb, super-swollen, recently-de-babied self over to the bed. That must have been amusing to watch. My heart was full of joy just knowing I had a baby... out there, somewhere. I was way too tired to insist on keeping her with me, so I tried to sleep. That would have been easier if the nurse hadn't kept jabbering on about newborn stuff and handing me pieces of paper. I was going cross-eyed and clearly wasn't absorbing anything she said. WHY WOULDN'T SHE LET ME SLEEP. And then, when I was left alone, I couldn't sleep because my compression boots periodically squeezed my lower legs to prevent clots and the IV made buzzing sounds each time it went off every few minutes.
And the rest is recovery. I'll probably post about that too, but this concludes the birth and events leading up to it. I'd like to reiterate that my very disappointing experience did nothing to diminish my love for my baby. But to be honest, for a few weeks, every time I looked at her bulbous little 14.5-inch head, I felt the slightest twinge of resentment, as I had been made to believe that this was the main reason she wouldn't come out. (I later decided this is hogwash: clearly the Pitocin failed to bring on truly effective contractions.)
I've finally gotten to the point where I can say out loud "I had a c-section" and not risk welling up. The fire in my belly has been lit and I will do everything I can to ensure I will have a VBAC next time. The first step is firing my doctors. More on that later!
Thanks for reading my saga.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Birth Story, Part 4: Nighttime
The sun was down and it was dark. At about 5:30pm we decided to do another internal check for progress. I'm pretty sure Cathy was hoping things would get moving before her shift ended. She loved us and we loved her.
2-3 cm dilated, about 80% effaced. Still.
I believe this is when I broke down. It started to seem like my worst prediction was coming true. This induction was failing. These contractions were worthless. Though I had successfully kept the pain at bay, I was getting pretty exhausted from the effort. I know Erich was too--he was the one getting me ice chips, popsicles and damp towels for my neck and food and coffee for himself in between being there with me for every contraction, helping me manage the pain.
But I needed a break, and if this baby was going to come out naturally, it was going to take a long time, and something had to give. I asked for a narcotic to take the edge off. Erich knew how I felt about pain medication and encouraged me to wait half an hour. I waited for about one more contraction, and then I really knew I couldn't continue like this. Within 30 minutes or so, I was hooked up with a dose of Dilaudid and very quickly got to rest.
I continued to feel everything, but the edge was definitely off and furthermore, I just didn't care. The room seemed quieter, probably because everyone was acting like I was asleep. I wasn't. I could hear everything and responses to conversations going on took shape in my head, but I couldn't care enough to make them come out of my mouth. I decided to enjoy this sensation, and I tried to visualize my cervix thinning and opening with every wave. The theme was relaxation.
After probably about an hour, the narcotic started to wear off a little and I started to get more active. Though all the changing positions I had done all day hadn't seemed to do much yet, gravity was my best chance of getting the Pit to work.
It was time for a nursing shift change. Cathy bid us farewell by taking my hands, praising me again for my stamina and telling us how much she liked us. (Cue the tears.) She assured me I was "doing everything right" and whatever happens, even if I have to have a section, there will have been some reason I didn't progress, like a big baby or something along those lines. She asked for permission to call and find out what happened later that night, which I of course granted.
To be honest, at this point I was nearly certain this would end in a c-section. Wanting that not to be the case hadn't helped yet, and it seemed like I was running out of time. My water had been broken for nearly 12 hours, and they would certainly expect me to deliver within 24 hours of rupture. Doing the math, I knew my progress would have to speed up a whole lot for that to happen. I knew I could still try an epidural, but I would want to be more than 3cm dilated for that. And even then, I would use it only to see if it could help the Pitocin work better and not because I really needed it for pain. So I tried some optimism. Labor is unpredictable--maybe at my next check I would magically be in transition and deliver soon after!
Our new nurse, Melinda, was also very nice. She came in focused and ready to get down to business. She laid out the situation: progress was slow. I was up to 28 mU/min of Pitocin--most women deliver at half that amount. She checked the contraction printout and observed that this was not a normal contraction pattern. Luckily, the baby was doing splendidly and was tolerating everything well. My BP was fine, except for the one after the last exam, which was sky high for understandable reasons. Her recommendation was to get serious about moving around and trying more aggressive positions, hopefully to even out the contractions and make them effective. Meanwhile, we would stop the Pitocin and start increasing again from zero, as my uterus might be building up a resistance.
Dr. P called and asked how much longer I wanted to go. It seemed like she knew a section was inevitable and was simply allowing me to retain the illusion that I would have this baby the way nature intended, but once I got over that, she would come in and cut me open. Yeah, I've been known to read into things a bit. Regardless, I did not want to see her. I decided to give it two more hours and let her come back at 10 to check me.
Melinda got me on the ball, knees spread far apart. I rolled side to side, front to back. After a while, I stood next to the bed and squatted with each contraction. Just as that started to get more comfortable, she had me on the bed on all fours, shifting my weight back and forth. She was a bit drill sergeant-esque, which I really needed at this time of the day. My contractions continued to be irregular, especially after they cut the Pit. I remember waiting 5-7 minutes between them for a while. Erich and I both started entertaining a small hope that I had made no more progress because some progress would prolong this nightmare and it might still fail.
It was a burden and a relief when Dr. P arrived. I didn't want the c-section, but I couldn't do this any more. She asked how I was doing. "Pretty miserable, actually," I replied. "You poor thing!" she said. That was nice of her to say, but I blamed her for my situation. I still feel that if my bag of waters were still intact, we could have just stopped for the night and tried again later. Lily was fine, I was fine. And, incidentally, and to the surprise of no one, I had not progressed any further. 2-3 cm. Maybe some improvement in effacement, but I don't remember. It didn't matter any more. It was time to have major surgery because all these artificial interventions did what statistics say they will do (or fail to do) 50% of the time. My body and my baby were not ready for birth, so they were going to be forced into submission with the scalpel.
I don't think anyone even said the word at this point. Through my tears and utter defeat, I simply nodded.
Part 5
2-3 cm dilated, about 80% effaced. Still.
I believe this is when I broke down. It started to seem like my worst prediction was coming true. This induction was failing. These contractions were worthless. Though I had successfully kept the pain at bay, I was getting pretty exhausted from the effort. I know Erich was too--he was the one getting me ice chips, popsicles and damp towels for my neck and food and coffee for himself in between being there with me for every contraction, helping me manage the pain.
But I needed a break, and if this baby was going to come out naturally, it was going to take a long time, and something had to give. I asked for a narcotic to take the edge off. Erich knew how I felt about pain medication and encouraged me to wait half an hour. I waited for about one more contraction, and then I really knew I couldn't continue like this. Within 30 minutes or so, I was hooked up with a dose of Dilaudid and very quickly got to rest.
I continued to feel everything, but the edge was definitely off and furthermore, I just didn't care. The room seemed quieter, probably because everyone was acting like I was asleep. I wasn't. I could hear everything and responses to conversations going on took shape in my head, but I couldn't care enough to make them come out of my mouth. I decided to enjoy this sensation, and I tried to visualize my cervix thinning and opening with every wave. The theme was relaxation.
After probably about an hour, the narcotic started to wear off a little and I started to get more active. Though all the changing positions I had done all day hadn't seemed to do much yet, gravity was my best chance of getting the Pit to work.
It was time for a nursing shift change. Cathy bid us farewell by taking my hands, praising me again for my stamina and telling us how much she liked us. (Cue the tears.) She assured me I was "doing everything right" and whatever happens, even if I have to have a section, there will have been some reason I didn't progress, like a big baby or something along those lines. She asked for permission to call and find out what happened later that night, which I of course granted.To be honest, at this point I was nearly certain this would end in a c-section. Wanting that not to be the case hadn't helped yet, and it seemed like I was running out of time. My water had been broken for nearly 12 hours, and they would certainly expect me to deliver within 24 hours of rupture. Doing the math, I knew my progress would have to speed up a whole lot for that to happen. I knew I could still try an epidural, but I would want to be more than 3cm dilated for that. And even then, I would use it only to see if it could help the Pitocin work better and not because I really needed it for pain. So I tried some optimism. Labor is unpredictable--maybe at my next check I would magically be in transition and deliver soon after!
Our new nurse, Melinda, was also very nice. She came in focused and ready to get down to business. She laid out the situation: progress was slow. I was up to 28 mU/min of Pitocin--most women deliver at half that amount. She checked the contraction printout and observed that this was not a normal contraction pattern. Luckily, the baby was doing splendidly and was tolerating everything well. My BP was fine, except for the one after the last exam, which was sky high for understandable reasons. Her recommendation was to get serious about moving around and trying more aggressive positions, hopefully to even out the contractions and make them effective. Meanwhile, we would stop the Pitocin and start increasing again from zero, as my uterus might be building up a resistance.
Dr. P called and asked how much longer I wanted to go. It seemed like she knew a section was inevitable and was simply allowing me to retain the illusion that I would have this baby the way nature intended, but once I got over that, she would come in and cut me open. Yeah, I've been known to read into things a bit. Regardless, I did not want to see her. I decided to give it two more hours and let her come back at 10 to check me.
Melinda got me on the ball, knees spread far apart. I rolled side to side, front to back. After a while, I stood next to the bed and squatted with each contraction. Just as that started to get more comfortable, she had me on the bed on all fours, shifting my weight back and forth. She was a bit drill sergeant-esque, which I really needed at this time of the day. My contractions continued to be irregular, especially after they cut the Pit. I remember waiting 5-7 minutes between them for a while. Erich and I both started entertaining a small hope that I had made no more progress because some progress would prolong this nightmare and it might still fail.
It was a burden and a relief when Dr. P arrived. I didn't want the c-section, but I couldn't do this any more. She asked how I was doing. "Pretty miserable, actually," I replied. "You poor thing!" she said. That was nice of her to say, but I blamed her for my situation. I still feel that if my bag of waters were still intact, we could have just stopped for the night and tried again later. Lily was fine, I was fine. And, incidentally, and to the surprise of no one, I had not progressed any further. 2-3 cm. Maybe some improvement in effacement, but I don't remember. It didn't matter any more. It was time to have major surgery because all these artificial interventions did what statistics say they will do (or fail to do) 50% of the time. My body and my baby were not ready for birth, so they were going to be forced into submission with the scalpel.
I don't think anyone even said the word at this point. Through my tears and utter defeat, I simply nodded.
Part 5
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Birth Story, Part 3: It's the Pits
For weeks before I gave birth, I had contractions. Pitiful little tightenings of my belly, which I would have to touch to verify that I was contracting. And, given that they did nothing to progress my cervix, they weren't "real." After my Cervidil was started, these contractions got to be more noticeable, and I hoped labor would start before the Pitocin. It didn't really.
First thing in the morning, I got checked and was somewhat pleased to learn that I was now 1.5cm dilated. Not much, but more than nothing! The nurse hooked me up to the Pitocin drip and informed me that the doctor would come in soon and would probably break my water.
What.
As I keep having to remind myself, I am NOT a doctor. HOWEVER, there's a few things I know about labor and contractions. One is that Pitocin contractions are much harder than natural ones. Two, contractions get harder after the water is broken. I also (legitimately) feared that breaking my water too soon would give Lily less of a cushion for moving into the correct position to be born. Thus far, I had not been successful in standing up to Dr. P, but I was pretty sure I didn't want my membranes ruptured so early in the day. If you've been following along, you know by now that "pretty sure" is not nearly sure enough.
Around 7:30am my ray of sunshine arrived: Cathy the nurse. One item on my birth preferences list that actually worked out and was granted was my request for a nurse who enjoys working with couples who have prepared for a natural childbirth. Cathy was the bomb. I told her I didn't want my water broken. When Dr. P arrived to do it, I asked her if we could wait because I didn't want to be "on the clock." (Deja vu! I also wanted to wait to be induced, and we know how that worked out.) She got her annoyed/frustrated look that I now know well and asked when we should do it instead. I didn't really know how to answer that question, so I...gave in (regret #5--huge, huge regret). Cathy looked at me and asked if I was sure, standing up to Dr. P's mumbles of protest better than I could. But I continued the theme of resignation and let her get it over with. (I now believe I should have said I wanted to be at least 5cm before breaking my bag of waters. I now also regret not hiring a doula, who would have done the thinking and advocating for me.)
After a pull, a tug, a pop and a gush, I was on the clock. Labor was henceforth messy and drippy, and besides all the legitimate reasons not to have the membranes ruptured so early, I wished I could have had a few hours to labor without all the messiness. It was hard enough to lug my belly around without having to place towels and pads everywhere as well.
Oh, and by now, my contractions were real. I didn't have to wonder whether I was having any. Within an hour or so, I couldn't talk through them and I needed to enter hypnosis to keep the discomfort at bay. For the whole first part of the day, I thought I could handle this. Every fifteen minutes they upped the Pit until I was contracting regularly. Unfortunately, even when the contractions got to be close together, they were never really regular. I'd get one every 2-3 minutes and then go 5 minutes before having three every minute, etc. Furthermore, from looking at the monitors we could see that they didn't have normal peaks. They felt strong and looked strong, but it was impossible to measure their strength without internal monitoring, which I never had.
But I labored on and impressed Cathy with my pain management. I started needing Erich more and more with my hypnosis cues, and he was there each time with a hand on my forehead and/or pressure on my shoulder, helping me relax through the painful artificial contractions. My parents stopped by at one point, but they didn't stay in the room long. It's hard to receive visitors when everyone needs to shut up ever 2-5 minutes while I breathe through a contraction. I had ice chips and yummy cherry-pineapple popsicles. It seemed okay as long as I could concentrate.
Then, around 1pm we figured it was a good time for an exam to check my progress. The verdict: 2-3cm, 80% effaced. I was disappointed. I was prepared for a number lower than 5, but I was hoping for more than 3. All that work hardly did anything! I wondered whether an epidural or other drugs would help me relax more and let the Pitocin do its work. Cathy encouraged me to keep doing what I was doing, keep taking the contractions one at a time and don't think hours in the future because it was impossible to know what was going to happen and it wasn't worth the stress. Her attitude helped me soldier on, and I kept finding labor demanding but manageable.
They cranked the Pit some more. The contractions got pretty bad. I was still managing without pain meds, but if I found myself mentally unprepared for the next one, I was in a world of hurt. We had the iPod going, alternating between Hypnobabies scripts and quiet music. I moved around and changed positions. Cathy went in search of the perfect birthing ball as the one in the room was under inflated. She praised me for my coping skills, for vocalizing through the contractions. Erich was my rock, but Cathy really kept me going.
Four more hours went by and I consented to another internal exam...
I'll leave it here for tonight, but I will say that (spoiler alert), it doesn't get any better from here.
Part 4
First thing in the morning, I got checked and was somewhat pleased to learn that I was now 1.5cm dilated. Not much, but more than nothing! The nurse hooked me up to the Pitocin drip and informed me that the doctor would come in soon and would probably break my water.
What.
As I keep having to remind myself, I am NOT a doctor. HOWEVER, there's a few things I know about labor and contractions. One is that Pitocin contractions are much harder than natural ones. Two, contractions get harder after the water is broken. I also (legitimately) feared that breaking my water too soon would give Lily less of a cushion for moving into the correct position to be born. Thus far, I had not been successful in standing up to Dr. P, but I was pretty sure I didn't want my membranes ruptured so early in the day. If you've been following along, you know by now that "pretty sure" is not nearly sure enough.
Around 7:30am my ray of sunshine arrived: Cathy the nurse. One item on my birth preferences list that actually worked out and was granted was my request for a nurse who enjoys working with couples who have prepared for a natural childbirth. Cathy was the bomb. I told her I didn't want my water broken. When Dr. P arrived to do it, I asked her if we could wait because I didn't want to be "on the clock." (Deja vu! I also wanted to wait to be induced, and we know how that worked out.) She got her annoyed/frustrated look that I now know well and asked when we should do it instead. I didn't really know how to answer that question, so I...gave in (regret #5--huge, huge regret). Cathy looked at me and asked if I was sure, standing up to Dr. P's mumbles of protest better than I could. But I continued the theme of resignation and let her get it over with. (I now believe I should have said I wanted to be at least 5cm before breaking my bag of waters. I now also regret not hiring a doula, who would have done the thinking and advocating for me.)
After a pull, a tug, a pop and a gush, I was on the clock. Labor was henceforth messy and drippy, and besides all the legitimate reasons not to have the membranes ruptured so early, I wished I could have had a few hours to labor without all the messiness. It was hard enough to lug my belly around without having to place towels and pads everywhere as well.
Oh, and by now, my contractions were real. I didn't have to wonder whether I was having any. Within an hour or so, I couldn't talk through them and I needed to enter hypnosis to keep the discomfort at bay. For the whole first part of the day, I thought I could handle this. Every fifteen minutes they upped the Pit until I was contracting regularly. Unfortunately, even when the contractions got to be close together, they were never really regular. I'd get one every 2-3 minutes and then go 5 minutes before having three every minute, etc. Furthermore, from looking at the monitors we could see that they didn't have normal peaks. They felt strong and looked strong, but it was impossible to measure their strength without internal monitoring, which I never had.
But I labored on and impressed Cathy with my pain management. I started needing Erich more and more with my hypnosis cues, and he was there each time with a hand on my forehead and/or pressure on my shoulder, helping me relax through the painful artificial contractions. My parents stopped by at one point, but they didn't stay in the room long. It's hard to receive visitors when everyone needs to shut up ever 2-5 minutes while I breathe through a contraction. I had ice chips and yummy cherry-pineapple popsicles. It seemed okay as long as I could concentrate.
Then, around 1pm we figured it was a good time for an exam to check my progress. The verdict: 2-3cm, 80% effaced. I was disappointed. I was prepared for a number lower than 5, but I was hoping for more than 3. All that work hardly did anything! I wondered whether an epidural or other drugs would help me relax more and let the Pitocin do its work. Cathy encouraged me to keep doing what I was doing, keep taking the contractions one at a time and don't think hours in the future because it was impossible to know what was going to happen and it wasn't worth the stress. Her attitude helped me soldier on, and I kept finding labor demanding but manageable.
They cranked the Pit some more. The contractions got pretty bad. I was still managing without pain meds, but if I found myself mentally unprepared for the next one, I was in a world of hurt. We had the iPod going, alternating between Hypnobabies scripts and quiet music. I moved around and changed positions. Cathy went in search of the perfect birthing ball as the one in the room was under inflated. She praised me for my coping skills, for vocalizing through the contractions. Erich was my rock, but Cathy really kept me going.
Four more hours went by and I consented to another internal exam...
I'll leave it here for tonight, but I will say that (spoiler alert), it doesn't get any better from here.
Part 4
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Don't Starve Me
The Birth Story shall continue, probably next week. This weekend is LILY'S BAPTISM EXTRAVAGANZA! and I have a lot of cleaning to do.
But in the meantime, enjoy this article that explains why I should have been allowed more than popsicles and ice chips and why I'm liking hospitals less and less:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/26/health/26child.html?ref=health
But in the meantime, enjoy this article that explains why I should have been allowed more than popsicles and ice chips and why I'm liking hospitals less and less:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/26/health/26child.html?ref=health
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Birth Story, Part 2: The Storm Begins
In the intervening days between my last prenatal checkup and my induction, I tried to remind myself that recent-miscarriage-sufferer Susan would be annoyed at hugely-pregnant Susan for being so upset about an induction and heightened risk of c-section. Anything for a baby, right? Unfortunately, that did pretty much nothing to improve my mood. I was sure that recent-miscarriage-sufferer Susan would understand.
So, Thursday the 7th arrived, and Erich and I worked around the house nonstop to get as much ready as we could. I finally had my motivation to pack my bag for the hospital! I packed comfy clothes for myself, none of which I wore because it was all pants and shirts. I also packed a zillion other things that I did not need or use. Live and learn!
My mom came over to help us and she actually stayed till after we left getting the nursery ready. Thanks, mom! At around 4:00, it was time to head out into the gloom. The predicted snow storm was arriving, and Erich was on edge, not wanting to take any chances on getting delayed in trafic or, worse yet, slipping and falling in the slush. We went first to our favorite Chinese restaurant for our last meal together as a family of two. I got orange peel chicken. I wasn't that hungry, but I ate anyway since hospitals are mean and don't let laboring women eat anything substanial.
We arrived in the Labor and Delivery ward at 6pm sharp. We felt weird showing up at a scheduled time to have our baby. It felt like we needed to make excuses to the world and assure them that we are not "those people" who schedule their baby's birth for convenience. This was not our choice! But, we got over it and got shown to our room, the same large but awkwardly laid-out corner suite we had seen in the tour of the hospital. When I had first seen this room, I solidified my desire to labor at home for as long as possible. (Aaaand, so much for that!) Despite the wood floors and other attempts at a homey feel, this was a very medical place.
The nurse took my vitals and asked again why I was being induced. Why, for high blood pressure! Except, over the next 24 hours, my blood pressure stayed in the normal range. I asked for clarification as to when and what I was allowed to eat, and she reminded me that I would not be allowed to eat the next day, "because we have to treat everyone like a possible c-section." Well, with a 30% c-section rate at this hospital, I'm not surprised. Except very, very few c-sections even require general anesthesia and only a small percentage of those have any complications with vomiting and aspiration, and effectively no one ever dies from that. Yet that is the reason I was allowed nothing more than ice chips and popsicles. Ridiculous!
Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. And I digress. Sorry.
Another nurse poked and massaged my crazy-swollen arms for about ten minutes, unable to find any veins for the IV. She finally settled on my wrist so that I couldn't bend or flex my hand. They put contraction and fetal heart monitors over my massive belly, and then I was really tethered. From that point onward, just to get to the bathroom six feet away I had to unplug the monitors, drape the cords across my shoulders and have Erich follow me with the IV stand. It's already hard to remember the sheer effort it required just to get out of bed and waddle across a room. I really don't miss being pregnant, to be honest.
By about 7:30, after a baseline internal check (still no dilation or effacement--"unfavorable cervix," further upping my chances of a c-section), the nurse placed the Cervidil behind my cervix. At this point, Erich took the final pictures of me as a pregnant lady:
This is actually one of the only pictures that doesn't make me look frightening. There's another one I won't share that actually scares my own mother. No joke. Btw, my face is at least 30% smaller now, thank goodness.
The bed is pretty close to the bathroom door on the right there. On the left in the background is the couch where Erich slept. You can also see my awkward IV.
So, Thursday the 7th arrived, and Erich and I worked around the house nonstop to get as much ready as we could. I finally had my motivation to pack my bag for the hospital! I packed comfy clothes for myself, none of which I wore because it was all pants and shirts. I also packed a zillion other things that I did not need or use. Live and learn!
My mom came over to help us and she actually stayed till after we left getting the nursery ready. Thanks, mom! At around 4:00, it was time to head out into the gloom. The predicted snow storm was arriving, and Erich was on edge, not wanting to take any chances on getting delayed in trafic or, worse yet, slipping and falling in the slush. We went first to our favorite Chinese restaurant for our last meal together as a family of two. I got orange peel chicken. I wasn't that hungry, but I ate anyway since hospitals are mean and don't let laboring women eat anything substanial.
We arrived in the Labor and Delivery ward at 6pm sharp. We felt weird showing up at a scheduled time to have our baby. It felt like we needed to make excuses to the world and assure them that we are not "those people" who schedule their baby's birth for convenience. This was not our choice! But, we got over it and got shown to our room, the same large but awkwardly laid-out corner suite we had seen in the tour of the hospital. When I had first seen this room, I solidified my desire to labor at home for as long as possible. (Aaaand, so much for that!) Despite the wood floors and other attempts at a homey feel, this was a very medical place.
The nurse took my vitals and asked again why I was being induced. Why, for high blood pressure! Except, over the next 24 hours, my blood pressure stayed in the normal range. I asked for clarification as to when and what I was allowed to eat, and she reminded me that I would not be allowed to eat the next day, "because we have to treat everyone like a possible c-section." Well, with a 30% c-section rate at this hospital, I'm not surprised. Except very, very few c-sections even require general anesthesia and only a small percentage of those have any complications with vomiting and aspiration, and effectively no one ever dies from that. Yet that is the reason I was allowed nothing more than ice chips and popsicles. Ridiculous!
Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. And I digress. Sorry.
Another nurse poked and massaged my crazy-swollen arms for about ten minutes, unable to find any veins for the IV. She finally settled on my wrist so that I couldn't bend or flex my hand. They put contraction and fetal heart monitors over my massive belly, and then I was really tethered. From that point onward, just to get to the bathroom six feet away I had to unplug the monitors, drape the cords across my shoulders and have Erich follow me with the IV stand. It's already hard to remember the sheer effort it required just to get out of bed and waddle across a room. I really don't miss being pregnant, to be honest.
By about 7:30, after a baseline internal check (still no dilation or effacement--"unfavorable cervix," further upping my chances of a c-section), the nurse placed the Cervidil behind my cervix. At this point, Erich took the final pictures of me as a pregnant lady:
This is actually one of the only pictures that doesn't make me look frightening. There's another one I won't share that actually scares my own mother. No joke. Btw, my face is at least 30% smaller now, thank goodness.
The bed is pretty close to the bathroom door on the right there. On the left in the background is the couch where Erich slept. You can also see my awkward IV.All we did that evening was watch TV, get ready for bed, and try to sleep. I was helped by a dose of Ambien, but Erich had to battle hospital noises and a drafty window. He's a real trooper, and I'm not being sarcastic. I think he worked even harder than I did this whole long weekend, but we'll get to more of that later.
I'll have to leave it there for today. The sleeping baby who's been farting on my lap for the last ten minutes is starting to stir a bit more. Sidenote/question of the day: will this baby ever consent to not being held while she sleeps?
Part 3
I'll have to leave it there for today. The sleeping baby who's been farting on my lap for the last ten minutes is starting to stir a bit more. Sidenote/question of the day: will this baby ever consent to not being held while she sleeps?
Part 3
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Birth Story, Part One: Pressure
This whole mess started on Tuesday, January 5th when I went in for my 39 week (minus one day) appointment. This appointment happened to be with Dr. P, who I hadn't seen much, but she and I go way back. She was the one who discovered my septum and always seemed pleasant, if a bit different manner-wise, probably due to her being from a different culture.
Anyway, Erich came with me to this appointment but had trouble finding a parking space, so he dropped me off so I could go and check in. I went down the dark corridor to the office, opened the door, and was greeted immediately by the backs of at least six other people in line. In line to check in. JUST TO CHECK IN. I've often been annoyed by the check-in process at this practice. It seems like they see about a thousand patients at any given time, and there are only two people in the reception area, one checking in and one checking out while the phones blink, all the lines busy as people also wait on hold to talk to a human. Every time someone checks in, the receptionist will not even make eye contact with the next person in line until they have everything organized, forms and insurance cards copied, etc.
Lots of women see their gynecologist once a year. And for some dumb reason, it seems a lot of them go in the first week in January. And once the calendar changes, the office people have to check everyone's insurance again, even if they're huge and pregnant and are there every week. So! It took at least five minutes per person in front of me to check in. And by the time I checked in, I had been standing there for
TWENTY MINUTES.
And the waiting room was PACKED. And, as usual and for some unknowable reason, the heat was cranked ridiculously high. Far too close to 80 degrees for anyone, let alone the hugely pregnant. Erich offered to stand in line for a while, which I should have taken him up on (regret #1). But it started to feel like my battle. When I got to the front of the line and the chick finally stopped ignoring me, I politely asked if the wait was a "Tuesday thing, or a first week in January thing?" She said, "Both." The usual two doctors were in and seeing patients, and it's a day the NP and u/s tech are there. So there were all kinds of people to be seen, yadda yadda THIS PRACTICE IS TOO BUSY. I know a lot of OB practices are crazy busy, but I have hope for the future. I won't stand for this.
Understandably, I was pretty grumbly by the time I finally got to sit down. Unlike the week before, when Dr. B said everything was fine, this week I didn't focus enough on staying relaxed and focused for my blood pressure's sake (regret #2). Despite the large crowds, I didn't have to wait super crazy long before getting called back. Urine was fine (I think), weight was fine, BP... "Hmm," said the nurse. "Oh no, what is it?" I asked. 120-something/90. That "over 90" part is what they really don't like. Crap crap crap. And she didn't even let me relax for a minute then take it again. I was concerned but didn't know what to expect next, so I just waited patiently.
Erich joined me in the exam room, and Dr. P came in shortly after. She studied my chart, measured my belly, took about a zillion hours to find the heartbeat (thank goodness for movement, which helped me narrowly avoid a freak-out), checked my cervix--still barely 1cm--and then looked at my chart again. "You know," she announced, "I'm looking at your blood pressure and you've already been to labor and delivery and you're about 39 weeks, so I'm thinking to myself... I'm going to induce you. I think Thursday would be a good time to start."
She went on to briefly describe how the process works, but I didn't care to bother to hear over the roaring in my ears. Induction. My first thought was, I'm going to have a c-section. No no no no no. This is not what I want at all. A small part of me was so very ready to be done being pregnant, but I had resigned myself to 2+ more weeks of hugeness. Anything to let my body and my baby decide when to be born and not my doctor.
I asked if we could at least wait until my due date, and Dr. P immediately seemed annoyed. "Then I'll have to send you to Labor and Delivery right now, and you'll have to come in every few days to be monitored." Should have said, "Fine! I'll do that." But she was wearing me down. (Regret #3.) I don't like to make people annoyed at me. She said, "You have to weigh the risks versus benefits." However, she never explained to me what those were.
In fact, no one ever really explained to me what pregnancy-induced hypertension is all about. I can't work a regret into this one, though, because I did call and ask. And I was threatened with a stroke if I didn't consent to the induction. *eye roll* Don't get me wrong, risks are risks, but I've had major abdominal surgery now. Isn't that risky too? (The answer is yes. Yes, it is.)
So Dr. P left the room and I lost it. That evil I-word enveloped me in fear. So much for my natural, drug-free birth. Now drugs were going to START and control my labor. I was automatically signed up for a hospital stay, IV, continuous monitoring, and a feeling like I had no say in what was happening to me. Because their stupid office can't manage its patient load (okay, that may not have been the total cause of my high-ish BP, but it did NOT help), I was now merely a sick patient instead of a mother giving birth.
Erich and I sadly went home, signed up for an induction starting Thursday evening with Cervidil and Pitocin on Friday morning. DID. NOT. WANT. I thought about how excited Lily's grandparents would be to know when to expect her, but it was at least a few hours before we could let them know while I tried to process this game plan. I was looking forward to her arrival and genuinely happy that I knew when it was going to be, but I was extremely unhappy about the induction, for reasons I believe are obvious by now. :)
Throughout my work with Hypnobabies, I knew there were tools for dealing with fear. However, in these couple of days, I was too afraid to use them. Stupid. Regret #4. I'm sure half-expecting a c-section, if it did anything, only made it more likely to happen. Instead, I focused on the last few things I could do around the house to get it ready for baby. That was worthwhile, of course, but I did spend too much time worrying and frantically seeking out anecdotes of successful inductions.
And I gave active patient-hood the ol' college try, but was shut down when the nurse on the phone told me that the numbers from my PIH labs were "going up" and it's much safer for me and the baby to have her out. In the words of any petulant adolescent, FIIIIINE.
So we were stuck with the induction, and I tried to feel resigned. A big storm was predicted for Thursday, but it didn't much matter for us since we'd definitely be stuck in the hospital.
To be continued...
Part 2
Anyway, Erich came with me to this appointment but had trouble finding a parking space, so he dropped me off so I could go and check in. I went down the dark corridor to the office, opened the door, and was greeted immediately by the backs of at least six other people in line. In line to check in. JUST TO CHECK IN. I've often been annoyed by the check-in process at this practice. It seems like they see about a thousand patients at any given time, and there are only two people in the reception area, one checking in and one checking out while the phones blink, all the lines busy as people also wait on hold to talk to a human. Every time someone checks in, the receptionist will not even make eye contact with the next person in line until they have everything organized, forms and insurance cards copied, etc.
Lots of women see their gynecologist once a year. And for some dumb reason, it seems a lot of them go in the first week in January. And once the calendar changes, the office people have to check everyone's insurance again, even if they're huge and pregnant and are there every week. So! It took at least five minutes per person in front of me to check in. And by the time I checked in, I had been standing there for
TWENTY MINUTES.
And the waiting room was PACKED. And, as usual and for some unknowable reason, the heat was cranked ridiculously high. Far too close to 80 degrees for anyone, let alone the hugely pregnant. Erich offered to stand in line for a while, which I should have taken him up on (regret #1). But it started to feel like my battle. When I got to the front of the line and the chick finally stopped ignoring me, I politely asked if the wait was a "Tuesday thing, or a first week in January thing?" She said, "Both." The usual two doctors were in and seeing patients, and it's a day the NP and u/s tech are there. So there were all kinds of people to be seen, yadda yadda THIS PRACTICE IS TOO BUSY. I know a lot of OB practices are crazy busy, but I have hope for the future. I won't stand for this.
Understandably, I was pretty grumbly by the time I finally got to sit down. Unlike the week before, when Dr. B said everything was fine, this week I didn't focus enough on staying relaxed and focused for my blood pressure's sake (regret #2). Despite the large crowds, I didn't have to wait super crazy long before getting called back. Urine was fine (I think), weight was fine, BP... "Hmm," said the nurse. "Oh no, what is it?" I asked. 120-something/90. That "over 90" part is what they really don't like. Crap crap crap. And she didn't even let me relax for a minute then take it again. I was concerned but didn't know what to expect next, so I just waited patiently.
Erich joined me in the exam room, and Dr. P came in shortly after. She studied my chart, measured my belly, took about a zillion hours to find the heartbeat (thank goodness for movement, which helped me narrowly avoid a freak-out), checked my cervix--still barely 1cm--and then looked at my chart again. "You know," she announced, "I'm looking at your blood pressure and you've already been to labor and delivery and you're about 39 weeks, so I'm thinking to myself... I'm going to induce you. I think Thursday would be a good time to start."
She went on to briefly describe how the process works, but I didn't care to bother to hear over the roaring in my ears. Induction. My first thought was, I'm going to have a c-section. No no no no no. This is not what I want at all. A small part of me was so very ready to be done being pregnant, but I had resigned myself to 2+ more weeks of hugeness. Anything to let my body and my baby decide when to be born and not my doctor.
I asked if we could at least wait until my due date, and Dr. P immediately seemed annoyed. "Then I'll have to send you to Labor and Delivery right now, and you'll have to come in every few days to be monitored." Should have said, "Fine! I'll do that." But she was wearing me down. (Regret #3.) I don't like to make people annoyed at me. She said, "You have to weigh the risks versus benefits." However, she never explained to me what those were.
In fact, no one ever really explained to me what pregnancy-induced hypertension is all about. I can't work a regret into this one, though, because I did call and ask. And I was threatened with a stroke if I didn't consent to the induction. *eye roll* Don't get me wrong, risks are risks, but I've had major abdominal surgery now. Isn't that risky too? (The answer is yes. Yes, it is.)
So Dr. P left the room and I lost it. That evil I-word enveloped me in fear. So much for my natural, drug-free birth. Now drugs were going to START and control my labor. I was automatically signed up for a hospital stay, IV, continuous monitoring, and a feeling like I had no say in what was happening to me. Because their stupid office can't manage its patient load (okay, that may not have been the total cause of my high-ish BP, but it did NOT help), I was now merely a sick patient instead of a mother giving birth.
Erich and I sadly went home, signed up for an induction starting Thursday evening with Cervidil and Pitocin on Friday morning. DID. NOT. WANT. I thought about how excited Lily's grandparents would be to know when to expect her, but it was at least a few hours before we could let them know while I tried to process this game plan. I was looking forward to her arrival and genuinely happy that I knew when it was going to be, but I was extremely unhappy about the induction, for reasons I believe are obvious by now. :)
Throughout my work with Hypnobabies, I knew there were tools for dealing with fear. However, in these couple of days, I was too afraid to use them. Stupid. Regret #4. I'm sure half-expecting a c-section, if it did anything, only made it more likely to happen. Instead, I focused on the last few things I could do around the house to get it ready for baby. That was worthwhile, of course, but I did spend too much time worrying and frantically seeking out anecdotes of successful inductions.
And I gave active patient-hood the ol' college try, but was shut down when the nurse on the phone told me that the numbers from my PIH labs were "going up" and it's much safer for me and the baby to have her out. In the words of any petulant adolescent, FIIIIINE.
So we were stuck with the induction, and I tried to feel resigned. A big storm was predicted for Thursday, but it didn't much matter for us since we'd definitely be stuck in the hospital.
To be continued...
Part 2
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