Disclaimer: this is a birth story. It uses terms such as "dilated", "effaced" and "epidural". If you are uncomfortable with these type of words, you might choose to just browse the photos.
Last Wednesday (May 16), I had my weekly checkup. I was one day shy of 37 weeks. When the doctor told me I was almost dilated to a 3, I was kind of surprised. With Jane, that was my status after about 18 hours of labor. However, it wasn't news I really wanted to hear. I was hoping for a few things to happen before this baby came--first, I had signed up for Aflac and needed to make it until May 27th to get a payout. Second I really,
really wanted to close on our house so I didn't have to deal with condo living (aka distant parking, large flight of stairs, cramped quarters, and angry neighbors) with a new baby. And lastly (and, yes,
least-ly), I was trying to finish my first-ever quilt for the baby. I knew that if he came before it was done, it would most likely never get finished.
Back to the doctor's visit. I had been having small contractions for a while, but my doctor told me to start paying attention--if they became more regular I should check back with him. So after leaving the doctor's office, I started to pay attention. I was surprised to find they were about 3 minutes apart and very regular. As the day wore on, they became more painful and closer together. I tried to pretend it wasn't happening, but when I finally called the doctor's office just before closing, they told me to go to the hospital.
I was so annoyed! It wasn't time! I wasn't ready! And blast it all--I
wasn't finished with my quilt!
We hurried and packed, dropped Jane off at her grandparents, and headed to Banner Gateway. After checking in and changing out of my street clothes, I was told that my doctor had stopped delivering there a few months earlier. So, I quickly threw my clothes back on, and rushed across town to Banner Desert. This was around 7 pm. Once checked in, they started to monitor me. I was dilated to almost a 4, and 80% effaced, but progress was slow. So they told me they'd keep me in triage for another hour and decide whether I was to stay or go at that point. After the hour passed, they said the same thing. This happened four times. Or five. I don't remember. All I know is that every so often the nurse would check my progress and look baffled. Finally, around midnight, they decided to admit me. While they went to clean a room for me, I kicked back and relaxed, only to realize I hadn't had a contraction for over 20 minutes. When the nurse finally came to take me to my room, I asked to go home. After assessing the distance from our condo to the hospital, she and the doctor agreed to let me me go home, but advised me to come back immediately if the contractions resumed.
All of the next day (Thursday) the contractions seemed to be lessening. By Friday morning, I felt great and informed Caleb that we were going to get our money from Aflac after all. But as often is the case with me, I spoke too soon. Early Friday afternoon, the contractions were back. However, I'd already had a false alarm, and I wasn't about to do
that again. We had made dinner plans with friends, and I was not about to miss out just for another false alarm! Besides, even if this was the real thing, I was sure I'd have plenty of time to enjoy a good meal, and then suffer through hours of early labor at home before going to the hospital. So we headed across town to Carraba's to meet up with the Caffreys. On the way there, my contractions kept coming steadily and became more and more painful. By the time we got there, I was beginning to question the decision to go out. Before sitting down Caleb warned the Caffreys that we might have to leave early because I might be in labor. I loved the look on their faces! We sat down in the booth, and soon were feasting on appetizers and pre-entree salads. I was really struggling with the pain of contractions and finally admitted to myself that we should have cancelled, when I suddenly felt the strangest sensation. It was as if a bomb had exploded in water, with the bomb and the water being inside of me. It seemed like I heard a *POP*, though it was more as though I felt the sound rather than heard it. I noticed everyone's eyes on me, so I tried to explain what had happened. I wasn't sure if my water had broke or if the baby had just decided to give a giant kick, but when the next contraction came on stronger than ever, I decided our situation had changed.
Panic set in. I shouted at Caleb to get up, that we needed to go to the hospital. He looked at me and kept eating. I shouted it again, and he proceeded to stuff food into his mouth. I started to really panic! I was not going to birth baby boy in a booth! Finally, he processed the urgency in my screech and slid off the bench. As I scooted my oversized belly out from behind the table and stood up, there was a HUGE gush of liquid down my legs. My eyes widened in horror as I assessed my situation. We were near the back of the restaurant. It was Friday, 6:30 pm, and the place was packed. Jane was sitting in her little high-chair getup, complete with her high chair cover and place mat suction-cupped to the table. I needed to get out of there immediately! I started toward the door as I yelled to Caleb to gather up Jane and meet me at the car.
As I hurried (aka waddled) through the crowds, I tried not to look people in the eyes. I didn't want to know what they saw. At one point, with the door just in sight through the crowds of diners-to-be, a man stepped in my path and leisurely ambled along in front of me, slowing my pace and blocking my way.
"Excuse me." I said in his ear, my belly centimeters away from his lower back. He continued on as if he didn't hear.
"Excuse me!" I said, a bit louder. He still didn't take any notice.
"SIR! WOULD YOU PLEASE GET OUT OF MY WAY!?!?" I actually screamed this in his ear, my panic getting the best of me. He turned around startled to see what banshee was shrieking behind him, and his sideways position was enough for me to escape. I rushed past, finally reaching the door and ran, as best as I could run, to the car, where I then stood, pretending not to notice all of the people staring at me with soaking wet pants and large puddles of water at my feet. The front row parking I had blessed on the way in was now a curse with all those people around.
Caleb finally arrived with Jane in tow, and we hurried to the hospital. As I walked back in to Triage, I saw the same nurse I'd spent all that time with two days earlier. As soon as she looked up, I said, "It's the real thing this time." She looked at my pants and agreed. As I was changing out of my wet clothes and getting hooked up to the monitor, they asked me if I wanted an epidural. I said I probably would, but I would let them know. Within a few minutes, I let them know--YES, PLEASE (though I may or may not have used the "please"!). After getting me checked in and set up, they checked my status. An 8! It took another hour or so before the anesthesiologist got to work his magic and by the time the epidural came, I was dilated to a 9 and whimpering. It hurt so bad!
Just like the first time, once the epidural kicked in, I turned to Caleb just to let him know how happy I was. I then relaxed for a bit, while the nurses set everything up. Soon after the epidural was in full force they checked again, and sure enough, I was dilated to a 10. They had me try a quick practice push, and without really giving much thought to that push, I pushed. They shouted for me to stop, saying that he was right there, and they called for the doctor on call, Dr. Tiersa Damore. It took the doctor about 30 minutes to get there, and when she finally did, she also asked me for a practice push. It produced the same results, so she quickly got herself set up, and they told me we were going to start pushing on the next contraction. It was so different from my experience with Jane. So low-key and so fast! On the next contraction I was told to take three deep breaths and to push three times per breath. First breath, his head was out. Second breath, his shoulders were out. Third breath, HE was out. And that was it! Our little Kumar was here! 8 pounds, 3 ounces, and 20 inches long. Healthy as can be. Everything
had gone so smoothly. And his name wasn't really Kumar, it was Asher J.
And so we didn't get our money from Aflac. And we aren't moved into our house yet. But, we have a beautiful, healthy baby boy, and that's all that really matters.
Before leaving for the hospital on Wednesday, darn quilt!
Officially checked in.
Welcome baby boy!
Proud Poppa
I hope the pediatrician didn't see this--
(His middle name was Kiritkumar)!
The nurse had to leave for a moment.
I was so in love with his little toes kicking up in the air!
Happy sister.
Beautiful flowers from my husband.
I finished the quilt!
He makes goofy faces, just like his Momma.
Such a snuggler!
