the all clear

I dreaded my six-week checkup because - um, you want to do what? Do you realize a seven-pound bullet just tore its way out of there?

But alas, everything is much easier than my mind prepares for.

I adore my midwife. Like, I want to be friends with her and have our husbands be friends. And maybe our dogs, too. We talked for a long time about my rapid-fire birth, which cloth diapering detergent we use, the fact we'll both turn 30 next year, how we're both Type A and want to plan our lives to the month.

And when I left I kind of wanted to say.."so, I know we don't get to see each other again and you totally just checked out my stitches in an awkward location, but I dunno do you want to..uh...well....you know....meet for happy hour?"

Instead, I said "see ya in the spring for my pap." Because that, kids, is how you make friends.

The report:

• I've lost 30 pounds. I have six to go. The second most alarming part of this is, I gained 36 pounds in nine months?!
• My iron levels which previously had dropped from 13 to 7 are back to 13.7. This is partly attributed to out-patient iron infusions but mostly due to my mother force feeding me raisins, red meat, malt-o-meal and beans.
• I am allowed to run. Resume the obsessive research on finding my first race. 
• My stitches are completely healed.
• And the best news? I am the fastest birther she's seen. Seems only appropriate I get my picture with a gold star in the office lobby.

We talked about my next baby. How the likelihood of it shooting out like a cannonball three seconds after I feel the first contraction is quite high.

It feels good to have it done, though. I'm no longer a patient recovering from birth but just normal Sarah, figuring how to take care of a baby, be a moderately-sane wife and do some poopy diaper laundry on the side.

the birth, part three

Read part one and part two.

The consequences of a speedy labor, though, started soon after Shea cut the cord. Little Henry was placed on my chest and we focused our attention on adoring this bundle of perfection.

My midwife was stitching me up for what seemed to be a long time. I don't remember the blood but Shea said there was lots of it. In a chain of events I can't really remember, my face turned white, and my blood pressure dropped to 70/20. I didn't know what that meant exactly except a lot of people rushed into the room including the anesthesiologist and an oxygen mask was placed on me for what Shea describes as a scary 20 minutes.

We found out later that I tore across a major artery combined with the fact that due to my labor being extraordinarily fast, my uterus stopped contracting once Henry greeted the world instead of continuing to contract to shut off the flow of blood. All this led to me losing more than double the amount of blood of a normal laboring woman.
 
There's a lot of time in between that I can't account for but the next thing I remember is Henry weighing in at 7lbs, 4 ounces and measuring 19 inches long. Then ordering a cheeseburger, fries and apple pie from the hospital cafeteria which did not live up to expectations.

Later, they asked me to try to pee, and I fainted in the bathroom. Once again triggering a rush of nurses into the room along with a horrifying torture device - ammonia. The nurses all joked what a champ I was during labor and now my body was falling apart afterward. I ended up needing a catheter but eventually I was able to focus on our sweet little son and our first visitors.

The next 24 hours were full of visitors, learning how to use my bathroom spray bottle, falling in love with the mesh underwear, and meeting with the onslaught of nurses, pediatricians, photographers and visits from random lab people taking my blood at 3 a.m.

Just 12 hours before we were supposed to head home I started complaining of dizzyness and vision clouded by a million little stars. After a quick blood draw we determined my hemoglobin was at a 7. When I checked in, it was 13. Another fact I don't completely understand but it's something my medically inclined friends hear and get wide eyed. That night I got even more visitors including my midwife who came in at 11 p.m. because she couldn't sleep without checking on me. Have I mentioned how blessed I feel to have her? I also got another IV of fluids and a pelvic exam (hi, terrifying) to check for internal bleeding.

Saturday morning a nurse from the blood conservation team came and explained that basically my body had no more iron and my choices were 1. get a blood transfusion, feel better right away but deal with possibility my body would reject it; 2. Get venafer (iron) infusions that help my body make its own blood over two to three weeks and feel better in a month or; 3. Do nothing, and feel better in six months. I opted for option two. I received one infusion in the hospital and then later, two outpatient treatments over the last two weeks.

Finally, Sunday morning, we got to take our little man home.

Now two weeks later, it's all getting better. My energy levels are returning despite the expected sleep deprivation. And the other healing required some vicodin and a large collection of new-to-me bathroom products. Everyday gets a little better. And if it meant having to do it all again, I would. As long as we get Henry in the end.

the birth, part two

Read part one.

We pulled up to the hospital and the valet opened my door, heard me and said "hmm wheelchair?" Uh yeah, buddy. The nurses took me into the triage room where I had to strip, put on a hospital gown and get checked.  "Well, I have good news and bad news. You're 100 percent effaced but only 1 centimeter."

It was in this moment things turned down a different path. I panicked. "If this is 1 cm pain, how am I going to get to 10 cm? I will surely die. Or pass out from shock. Something must be wrong. I'm going to have a c-section."

The same nurse yelled at me to calm down. She wasn't sure if there was anything they could do since I was only 1 cm. Which if I could have actually spoken, I would have assured her that I was most definitely NOT leaving this hospital without a baby. After checking me again, she reported that I was pushing. "If you think you are in pain now, wait til you rip your cervix." More panic. And later a grievance against snotty nurse who fortunately we did not see again.

I've never been in labor. I've never pushed. And I most certainly did not how to stop pushing. Things didn't get better from there. The nurse botched my IV and a wide-eyed Shea told me not to look. The two-inch long bruise left on my arm now 12 days later is evidence of what probably happened.

Half an hour later, I was checked again. Eight centimeters. EIGHT. Suddenly it all made a lot more sense. The pain I was feeling, the panic, was me in transition. A few minutes later I would be at 10 cm, and I could hear the nurses' shocked whispers in the hallway. I was shaking violently, which they told me was hormones that surge right before pushing.

Then I made a decision I am still processing. I cried, begged, pleaded for an epidural. I told Shea not to be mad at me but I couldn't do it. The nurses and Shea assured me this wasn't "normal" labor and I had nothing to feel guilty about. My strong desire for a natural birth went out the window when my body had no time to prepare and cope with the pain. When I went from one to ten in an hour. There was no lead up, no time for coaching or confidence building. And there was a nurse who induced panic and fear. And the confusion of what was happening and the lag time as I had to wait to push when my body was already ready to go.

I didn't feel the epidural needle. My body was slumped over Shea's with my eyes locked into his waiting for relief. And then it came, like a sweet wave of warm water. I know I could still feel the contractions somewhat because I remember asking "is this one?" but my memory is fuzzy. We waited an hour for the little man's head to turn. The nurse asked me to try pushing just to see how close we were. With one push, the nurse asked Shea if he wanted to see his son's head.

My midwife arrived and with only two more pushes, I was sobbing as my son was placed on my chest.

The consequences of a speedy labor, though, started soon after Shea cut the cord.

the birth, part one

We were prepared for a long labor. The ones where you start out at home, feel cramps that gradually, over hours, work up to painful contractions. We prepared for husband-led coaching, tennis ball back rubs and focal points. We were ready to stay strong through the transition period when panic and doubt set in. We anticipated hours of pushing before we'd get to meet our little man.

At our 39 week appointment, we found out I was 50 percent effaced (had been this way for three weeks) and only 1 centimeter dilated. Baby boy had dropped more but still had a ways to go. After leaving the appointment, I called my mom and cried for an hour. I was tired. Swollen. Ready. That night I cried more and Shea rubbed my back as I bounced on a birthing ball. I felt nothing that would indicate labor was just hours away.

At 4 a.m., I woke up to what felt like strong menstrual cramps that seemed to come in waves. I slept in between them but started to casually check my phone to see how far apart they were coming. Six minutes. At 5 a.m., I got up to walk around. I still figured it was just another bout of false labor that would end up with me sitting at work yet another day. I calmly woke up Shea. I walked around, got the trash ready to go out, and shrugged my shoulders as Shea asked, "so do you think this is it?"

At 6 a.m. we called my mom. We think this is it. Shea made me peanut butter toast, which I couldn't eat. I started a bath but then immediately drained the tub. Next, I tried a shower. Shea washed my hair as I realized standing there was not comforting at all. I dragged myself to bed. Quickly, the contractions were closer to three minutes apart. I was yelling through each contraction - low, monotone yells. We talked about the hospital but I was determined to wait at home until the clinic opened at 8:30 a.m. I was starting to feel like I was drowning in pain, losing control as the contractions started to come on top of each other. I dragged myself to the bathroom afraid I was going to throw up. And there I would lie curled up in the fetal position on our bathmat, yelling Shea's name followed by "please help me" during contractions where a break never came.

This was supposed to be happening during transition. The deep pain, the panic, the doubt - not now, not at home. Shea wisely packed our bags into the car, and somehow I got myself to the car as he put the dog away. The car ride was a blur as Shea tried to call my midwife to tell her we were on our way while speeding down Ward Parkway and running red lights. I was getting no break from contractions and alternating my yelling between "just please help me" and "put on your flashers!"

one week ago

One week ago this little guy came into our lives.

Henry Charles. 7 lbs, 4 oz, 19 inches. Born at 12:23 p.m. on Thursday, Aug. 11

 

Labor and birth went exactly opposite of how we expected and planned. There were disappointments and really scary moments. But all were completely trumped by the miracle of birth, the bond between Shea and I and of course, this amazingly perfect little boy.

I'm working on putting it all into words. Until then, enjoy my favorite picture so far.