Birth Day!!!

The long-awaited birth day post! Finally! Of course, I'm pre-dating this because I'm anal and like to keep things in order, but I'm sure you'll grant me this simple pleasure -- it's one of the few aspects of my life that I still have control over! :)

The Happy, Clean Version: The stork stopped by my hospital room and delivered Xavier Shea to us at 9:11 a.m. on Saturday, Aug. 1, 2009. He weighed 8 pounds, 5 ounces, and was 20 inches long. He looks both like Bill and like me, with a full head of hair, dark blue eyes (which we expect to change to brown), and he is absolutely perfect. Lots and lots of photos coming soon.

The Real (definitely TMI) Version, with all the fun blood and guts: Friday, July 31, was a miserable, rainy mess, especially in the late afternoon. I was worried about Bill driving home, and our cable had gone out for a little while, and, while we had said we should use the Tortilla Press birthday coupon I had on the last day it was valid (to try to induce labor with spicy food), I had no desire to walk around Collingswood in the pouring rain (not even if there was the chance of a Pop Shop dessert in my future). Bill just stopped to pick up some sandwiches -- chicken cutlet subs, mmm... -- and we watched some TV.

Of course, though, I still wanted ice cream, so I suggested a Cold Stone run (by this time the rain had stopped), where I could have my chocolate ice cream with coconut and pineapple (which is another food said to induce labor), and take a stroll around the Promenade. It was a nice cool night, and walking is healthy and they say it speeds labor. I don't know if it speeds you going into labor, or if it just speeds up the labor process, but either way, I was willing to give it a shot. I didn't have much hope at it working, though, considering I hadn't done any real walking through my pregnancy, although that had been my original plan.

I had my ice cream and we had our walk, and came home to lie on the couch and watch more TV, until about 1 a.m., at which point Bill woke up and begged me to go to bed. I finally agreed, and we fell asleep quickly.

At 1:35 a.m., I woke up with HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE stomach pains, and got up and ran to the bathroom, where I ... went to the bathroom several times, the whole time thinking, I have to stop eating this much. I need to start eating better and taking care of myself. Maybe the chicken cutlet was bad. The ice cream was probably too much.

I tried to get back into bed, but the pain was too bad. I left Bill and Mae all sleepy and snuck downstairs to try to watch TV to see what was going to happen. I figured that I should probably start timing these stomach pains, just in case this was what labor felt like. I opened the laptop and went to ContractionMaster.com (conveniently bookmarked for this moment), flipped through the channels and found "Knocked Up" (of all movies), and watched the scenes where Katherine Heigl is in labor and having the baby.

Around 2:30 a.m., the pains were getting worse, and the only way I could get through them was by pacing the floor, but I certainly couldn't be bothered with clicking the Start/Stop button in time with what I guessed were contractions. I went upstairs and woke Bill.

"I don't know if this is labor, but I'm having horrible, horrible stomach pains, and they're about eight minutes apart. I need you to come downstairs and help me."

He jumped out of bed and assumed his position in front of the laptop.

"When do you think you should call the doctor?"
"I don't even know if this is labor."
"Well, your contractions have been about five-to-six minutes apart for an hour."

[Obviously, the conversations included in this blog are approximate recollections of what may or may not have been said while I was experiencing the intense pain and the aftermath of birth. I, in no way, feel guilty for any lack of accuracy in my reporting. Take that, Oprah.]

Around 3:30 a.m., I called the doctor and left a message with the answering service. While debating when to call and wake up my mother, Dr. G called me back, sounding groggy. I explained what I was feeling and she said to get over to the hospital. I hung up and called my mother.

"Steph?"
"Yeah. I just got off the phone with the doctor and she said to go to the hospital. My contractions are about 5 minutes apart."
"All right. We'll leave right now."

Bill and I moved my pacing upstairs to get the bags. I told Bill to throw in a few last-minute things, and my pillow, and his Adidas sandals and we were ready to go. We woke Mae from her comfy spot on the floor and made her go outside to pee, and then go in her crate. She looked at us like we were crazy, but complied quickly. She definitely knew something was happening.

I was praying for no contractions on the way to the hospital -- because they were unbearable unless I was pacing -- and I got pretty lucky, with only a couple of pangs during the 15-minute drive. We pulled up to the Emergency entrance and walked in, where two young guys directed us to the elevators without us even saying anything. I was a huge pregnant woman, looking pained and clutching a pillow, with a frazzled looking guy in tow. I don't think it was hard for them to figure out where we needed to be.

I gave the woman at the Labor & Delivery check-in my license and insurance card, and mumbled answers to some questions. She gave me a bracelet and told us to continue on down the hallway, where Bill answered more questions while I paced back and forth. A wonderful nurse led us to my L&D room and gave me a gown. I went to the bathroom (again, just for good measure), stripped down and donned my new outfit (opening in the back). I paced for another minute or so until the nurse returned and said to lie down so she could check how far dilated I was. She reported five-to-six centimeters. Oh my God! I was terrified, and in so much pain I thought I was going to die.

As soon as she left the room, I felt something warm leaking out of me, and I couldn't stop it. I didn't like it. When she came back, I said, "I don't know if I'm bleeding or if my water broke, but something is leaking out of me." She said that it definitely was my water, which she noticed had been ready to break. Well, thanks for warning me! I'm so glad that didn't happen while I was wearing my own clothes or sitting in the car or in my house or at work.

She asked me about my plans for pain relief, and I quickly informed her that I wanted an epidural as soon as possible to relieve the pain, but to last long enough that it wouldn't wear off. She assured me that it wouldn't wear off, and went to get the anesthesiologist.

Lots of other things were happening: The nurse gave me an IV. Someone else came to take blood. Bill gave the nurse the box of supplies they'd need for our cord blood donation. He helped me answer the questions they were asking -- During one contraction, they asked how much I weighed, and how much weight I had gained through my pregnancy. I blew out my breath and looked at him to answer, which he did without hesitation. The nurse said, "Wow, you're good!" and he said, "She blogs." He talked to my mom, who was almost there. He talked to his parents, who were also on their way.

At 5:15 a.m., the anesthesiologist came in and made me read a form saying that I could be paralyzed or die if they inserted a needle into my spine. I signed the form saying I didn't care if they could stop the pain NOW. The nurse sat me up and scootched me over to the edge of the bed, facing Bill and the window, with my bare back to the door of the room. The anesthesiologist -- a cold, scary woman, with no compassion about what she was about to do to me -- started setting up behind me, and the nurse -- did I mention she was wonderful? -- wrapped her arms around mine and tried to hold me still, which was difficult, I'm sure, because I couldn't stop shaking. She spoke softly and calmly explained what was happening. I stared at one of the blue dots on my hospital gown. Bill, I'm sure, bit his nails, but I wasn't able to see him while staring at the dot. I think there was a sharp pain when she inserted the needle (the first numbing needle or the epidural needle itself, I couldn't tell you), and I remember saying, "Oww, oww, oww, oww," but I remember trying to say it quietly, because I was afraid of the anesthesiologist. That, and I was terrified to move too much and become paralyzed.

When it was done, I repeatedly thanked the anesthesiologist, who didn't respond, and laid back down on the bed and breathed through the contractions, trying to think about how they should stop soon. Well, they never stopped on my right side.

The contractions I had been having kept alternating between the feeling of stomach sickness/menstrual cramping and that of sharp, sharp back pains. Once I got the epidural, my entire left side went numb (which was a weird feeling), but I continued to feel all of the pain on my right. While it still hurt a lot, having it cut in half made it at least bearable, and I held out hope that my right side would go numb soon. The nurse placed a pillow under my left hip (to get the drugs to slide to my right side?), but that never worked.

My mom showed up at 5:20 a.m. My dad had dropped her off, driven to our house to feed Maeberry, and would drive back to the hospital to wait after that. My sister planned to follow after she fed her dog. Bill's parents and brothers were coming right to the hospital.

The nurses changed shifts at some point, and my wonderful nurse left me, but was replaced by another wonderful nurse and a ... nursing student? I'm not sure. She was young, and the nurse was teaching her what to do the whole time, but she was wonderful too. They checked me again around 6 a.m. and reported that I was fully dilated; it was time to start pushing. We couldn't believe it all had happened so fast, but here we were, about to have a baby. Holy shit.

Dr. G came in a little after 6, with wet hair and a smile. "That was fast. I barely had time to take a shower!" She got ready and we got to work.

Bill took a spot next to my numb left leg and my mom stepped up to my right. I was instructed to lift my legs, hands pulling back my knees, and my two "support people" would steady my legs. From there, I should take a deep cleansing breath and blow it out, then take another breath, chin to my chest, and "bear down." I'm still not sure what was means, but the most I can tell, you should push like you're going to poop. I wasn't able to feel anything below my waist -- and once I started pushing, all of the pain on the right side of my body basically went away -- so I felt more like I was just making the face and going through the motions. But the nurses said I was doing great, and Dr. G -- who kept coming and going -- said I was doing great too.

They instructed me to push during the contractions -- three pushes per contraction -- and then we relaxed the rest of the time. Bill, my mom and I talked to the nurses about how I was doing, about the baby, about where we were from and about the Mets-Phillies rivalry (Did I really think I would be able to avoid baseball talk in the delivery room? Well, yeah, I did, but by that point, I didn't really care enough to murder my husband and my mother.). We chatted. I mean, that's really what we did: chat. And then the nurses would stop us when I was having another contraction, and we'd push. And then we'd chat again. Bill and my mother kept commenting on how calm I was through the process, but really, I didn't feel anything, and I didn't really have any other options. I was stuck there, legs spread, until the baby came out. So we made the best of it. And everybody kept telling me I was doing well and making progress, and they said the baby was doing well and handling labor well, so what more could I ask for?

Then the nurses started saying things like, "You can see the head now. We can get you a mirror. Why don't the two of you look -- the head is right there, and whether it's a boy or a girl, it has a LOT of hair!" And then I would say things like, "No! Nobody is looking down there! Nobody needs to see that. We trust you."

After it was all over, both my husband and my mother confessed simultaneously that they looked. At my crotch. As the baby was coming out. I was mortified, but they are still saying that it was the most amazing thing they ever saw. I wouldn't know, because I spent every push with my eyes squeezed shut, not looking down at what was about to come out. I think it's because I was afraid that I'd realize what was happening and that it would start hurting, and also because I couldn't believe that I was actually about to have a baby. In fact, I kept saying that, over and over, throughout the whole labor: "I can't believe that we're going to have a baby." Everyone kept saying, "Well, you better believe it, because it's coming soon!"

Dr. G and the nurses had been taking turns with the olive oil (I think, or it might have been just Dr. G, I don't know), which was supposed to keep stretching me out so I didn't tear anything. Something else I was trying not to think about. When we started, Dr. G made me sign a form saying that I gave her permission to do whatever necessary to get the baby out -- episiotomy, vacuum suction, forceps, c-section, etc. Obviously, there's no question -- get the baby out safely. But did I want her to cut my whoo-ha open? No! And I definitely didn't want to think about it, or think about anything ripping while the baby was coming out. More about this later.

So the nurses and Dr. G and even my mom and Bill kept saying that I just needed to push a little more and he'd be out, and they put a blanket on my chest to wrap the baby in once it came out. Then in the middle of one of the last pushes, Dr. G said the head was out, and then all of a sudden, she pulled out the whole baby, and that felt really weird -- like suction or something. Bill was crying and my mother was crying and they put the baby on my stomach, and I just thought, Oh my God, what is that? It's a real-life baby.

At some point they said, "It's a boy!" and I remember being surprised -- I think I really thought it was going to be a girl. And Bill said that he had forgotten to even look to see if it was a boy or girl when they pulled him out -- he had been more concerned about whether or not it was breathing and crying. The nurses kind of wiped him down on me, and Dr. G asked Bill if he wanted to cut the cord, which he did. (And my mother took a blurry picture.)














Then they brought him over to the warmer to clean him up, and Dr. G went to work fixing me. I don't know how many stitches I needed, but it took her about 35 minutes. The nurses cleaned the baby and passed him off to Bill, who held him the whole time and came over to show him to me, but I was stuck on the table -- again shaking uncontrollably -- while Dr. G massaged my stomach and uterus (and announced to the nurses that "The placenta is out at 9:17" [I think that's the right time, but who cares?]), and then started stitching. She informed me that I had suffered a third-degree tear, and explained that that's better than a fourth-degree, which would include the (ass) muscle. Well, thank God for that, but what happened to all that olive oil you guys were using down there? So that was unfortunate.

Aside from the stitches, the labor was amazing compared to what I had been expecting. It wasn't fun or anything -- and it definitely wasn't orgasmic, not that anybody believes that shit for a second -- but it was virtually painless, once I got the epidural, and it only lasted for eight hours! For my first baby! That's virtually unheard of, at least in the stories I've heard. So God not only gave us the most amazing gift -- Xavier Shea, our baby boy, our pride and joy -- but he threw in a little extra something for me as well.















Thank you, God!