The Birth

According to my snazzy WordPress stats, this is the page that gets the most views. Therefore, I feel as if I should actually start writing the birth story…

Let’s begin…

It all started one fancy evening with a man and a woman expressing their love for each other…

Just kidding. I’m not going to go THAT far back…

My due date was May 23rd, 2008. I finished my final 1L exams on May 2nd 2008, and hubster and I decided to go out of town for the weekend, seeing as though it probably wouldn’t happen again for a while. We went to Breaks Interstate Park and spent two wonderful evenings in the lodge. We ate good food, walked around the park a few times, and spent a ton of time relaxing in the hotel room. Sunday morning we drove home because I had a scheduled Ob appointment on Monday morning. At the prior week’s appointment I was barely dilated, and didn’t expect much to change by Monday. Hubster and I even discussed driving to my mom’s house 6 hours away to spend the week until the next week’s appointment.

However, that would quickly change. Monday I went to my appointment and was checked, obviously. Babylicious was fine and moving around and all, and upon a check of my cervix, I was dilated to around a centimeter and was softening quite nicely. So, my ob looked at me and said “We can go ahead and induce on Friday since you’ll be at 38 weeks by then”. I couldn’t believe it. I called Hubster and said “We can’t go to Mom’s, I’m being induced on Friday”. Then I called my mother and sister, who would be there for the birth.

Thursday May 8, 2008 I went to the hospital to begin preparations for my induction. If you’ve never been induce, whoo boy, are you in for a good time. Preparations for induction includes having a drug called cervadil (no idea if that is spelled correctly. One of these days I’m sure I’ll look it up) shoved up into the nether regions of your lady parts. This is meant to start the cervix softening process, and hopefully dilate the cervix more than it already is. The best part of the whole cervadil process is that you get to lie completely still in a bed that can only be compared to a sheet of plywood in its level of comfort, for two whole hours.

Listen closely to this next part. On my birth plan that was given to my Ob and the hospital I stated that I wanted constant monitoring of the baby’s heartrate. NEVER EVER do this, unless you are high risk. Those nurses, boy, they sure did take that to heart. I was strapped onto the contraction monitor (even though I wasn’t contracting) and the heartbeat monitor, completely strapped to the bed. I wasn’t allowed to get up, and even when I had to use the bathroom, it became a huge ordeal during which a nurse would have to come and unplug me, and I’d have to lift the cords so they wouldn’t drag through the stream of urine. For most people, this may not be an issue. I have this obsession by which I have to go to the bathroom at least once an hour or so. Even if only a few drops come out, I have to go. So of course, once an hour for 5,679 hours I had to have a nurse come in to unplug me, head to the bathroom, get plugged back in, and have the monitors readjusted. Let me tell you, that was fun to do.

I wanted so desperately to get up and move around and walk down the halls like they do in the movies, but I was strapped to that damn uncomfortable bed, unable to even lie on my side, because that screwed with the monitors. It was awful. Needless to say, I did not get much sleep that night.

On a side note: I’m not even sure why the nurses required that I stay on the monitor considering when babylicious’s heart rate went down, they did nothing about it for 18 hours or so. If we weren’t going to care about the heart-rate, what exactly was the point of being a prisoner in my own birthing bed. I’ll go into more detail with that later.

At around 3 a.m. on Friday May 9th, I started having contractions. They weren’t too awfully bad at that point, but after an hour or so, the nurse offered me a pain medication. I said “sure, why not. What harm can they do”. Well, to put it mildly, not only did they NOT get rid of the pain, but whatever it was made me feel drunk. And by drunk I mean not just buzzed, but downright wasted. Like dizzy, nauseous, etc. etc. I had to close my eyes and breath through the nausea, and I was still having contractions to boot.

Around 3:30 or 4, or something like that, while I was trying not to vomit and wishing desperately that the damn “pain” medication would wear off, a swarm of nurses (actually, it may have only been 2, but it felt like a lot more) came running into my room and started to mess with babylicious. When I enquired as to what they were doing, the, I’m assuming, head nurse said “His heart-rate is low and we’re trying to get it back up”. Lovely. I said “Can we just go in and get him out please”, the first of many times I would utter this in desperation. Finally the nurse was able to get his heart-rate up, and hey, since the heart-rate went back up, there must not be anything wrong with him, right? RIGHT?

For the rest of the night, and into the morning the contractions started coming a little harder and faster. I remember my OB saying not to wait until I was dying to have an epidural. Around 6:30 or 7, after a relatively painful contraction I decided to ask for the epidural. This was a stupid idea, and one if I had to do over, I would not have chosen. I was given the epidural, and almost immediately the labor completely stopped. My Ob came in around 8, broke my water and started pitocin. She also checked me and reported I was around 2 centimeters dilated. 2 centimeters. 2 mother-effing centimeters. At this point I’d been at the hospital for 12 hours. Some women complete labor and have babies in the amount of time it took me to get to 2 centimeters.

Also, pitocin sucks. Again, if I had it to do over, I would never get induced. The pitocin (or the epidural, I’m not really sure which) made me horribly ill. I was on the verge of vomiting from that point on, until I actually DID vomit, right before giving birth. That’s a lovely memory. However, the pitocin did it’s job and I began contracting again, and the bed finally wasn’t so uncomfortable (because I couldn’t feel anything from mid-back to my toes).

This was also when babylicious’s heart-rate began going down during every contraction.

From around 8 in the morning to 10 o’clock at night, I dilated to five centimeters. FIVE CENTIMETERS!!! HALF of what I needed to be dilated in order to start pushing. FIVE. Everytime the nurse came in to check me (which was very infrequently due to my water having been broken, and fear of introducing infection causing bacteria) I would comment on his heart-rate, and every time the nurse would say “Well, since it keeps going up, it seems like there is nothing to worry about”.

I wanted to murder someone. There obviously WAS something to worry about or his heart-rate wouldn’t continue to go down. I didn’t want to wait until his heart-rate STAYED below normal. Again, what the eff was the point of montioring if nothing was actually going to be DONE when something came up abnormal. It was wearing on me, and more than once I asked if we could just go ahead and take him out.

Through all of this my mother, sister, and Hubster were in my room with me, trying to keep me in good spirits, while I fought hard against the anxiety that something was going wrong with babylicious and the extreme nausea that was ravishing my body.

Finally, FINALLY, at my 11 p.m. check, the nurse said I was not progressing fast enough and babylicious’s head was beginning to cone. She called my Ob and updated her on what was going on, and FINALLY the decision was made to go ahead and give me a c-section.

Upon hearing this, I threw up.

I was wheeled into the operating room alone. Hubster was left to put on his scrubs. My sister was able to get pics of this, and let me tell you, they are HILARIOUS. If I’d have been there, I probably would have died laughing.

As it was, I was showing my goodies to about 10 different people in the operating room, where, by the way, I threw up. Again. Into a bucket that some random nurse put up by my face, because by that time I was already in the crucified position with my arms strapped to the operating table. Yeah, that was pleasant. I have to admit that the anesthesiologist who was administering my medication had the most wonderful bedside manner. He spoke to me the entire time and told me what all would happen. I guess since they are the ones that have the most contact with the patient during a surgery such as this, they should be good with people. And let me tell you, if it wasn’t for the fact that I was lying there naked, waiting for hubster to walk in, I probably would have given him the moves.

And by moves, I mean silently obsessing over him, and planning my next visit to the hospital in hopes of a glimpse or two. You know, ’cause that’s how I roll.

Finally, hubster walks in clad in his blue scrubs, sits down next to me, and grasps my hands. I swear, he seemed more nervous than I was. I felt like I needed to reassure him that everything would be ok. I told him I threw up, and he was so great about it. If I’m remembering it correctly, there was a cloth on my forhead that he used to wipe sweat away. Although, why I would be sweating, I’m not sure. Nerves perhaps. Maybe it was just very hot in the operating room. I’m really not sure. It’s been 16 months. Bear with me. I do remember seeing my mother and sister through the operating door. I waved to them, right before the nurse told them they would have to leave.

The doctors started doing their thing. In a manner of minutes I was sliced open and little babylicious was being pulled out. I was watching everything in the light above me. It was a big silver light fixture that reflected everything going on behind the curtain. I saw when babylicious appeared, but honestly, I don’t remember him crying. I know that’s the first thing that most women think about after giving birth, but I think at that moment the emotions took over and I was just glad he was out and alive. He was wrapped and handed to Hubster, who by the way, was so aprehensive and nervous. We took the first photo of Hubster holding his son. I’m in the background smiling at my two boys. Then they wisked him away to be checked out while I was being put back together. Hubster went with him. I was taken to recovery, and about an hour later I was handed my son for the first time.

This was all between 12 a.m. and 1 a.m. of May 10, 2008. His official time of birth was 12:07 a.m. on Saturday May 10. Certainly a day to remember, and one that completely changed my life for the better.



  1. um, I see no story regarding a birth.

    couldya get on that?


  2. certainly one of the most memorable days of my life 🙂

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