Baby Dominic's Birth Story

It's a boy!!

Dominic Jude

{Skipping over the announcement post, and getting to the real meat: birth story! Also, all the usual birth story TMI warnings.}

Clare's Birth Story
Peter's Birth Story

So, much like with Peter, I was pretty much done with being pregnant several weeks before birth. Also much like Peter, I went through weeks of irregular early labor/Braxton Hicks/whatever contractions. A few times, things looked promising...until they petered out. Blah.

So we get to 39 weeks. I had an appointment that Monday, when I was 39&0. Since we were planning induction for the next week, we had to do a cervix check (to see how favorable I was for induction, etc.), and things were promising: 3cm/80% effaced/0 station.

My doctor was sure that I'd go Monday or Tuesday. Or in the next few days at the outset, but scheduled a pitocin induction for Monday morning just in case. Ha! Famous last words!
So Monday came and went. My in-laws arrived to watch Clare and Peter on D-Day. That  was helped put my mind at ease. Greatly, since, even though I had several people offer help, it just made everything so much easier to know I didn't need to worry about it.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, weekend. All the walking and eating and pedicure-ing did nothing to move Baby along. By Friday, I resigned myself to induction, because it was so much easier on my mental state.

At least Baby would (presumably) have the awesome birthday of 08.08.16!

Sure enough, Charles and I were up and moving bright and early Monday morning. Ate breakfast--enough to sustain me in labor, not so much as to be a huge disaster if it came back up. Fun times! Gave the kiddos final good-bye kisses. Headed out.

As predicted

It was grey and rainy. I felt at peace about everything, but I also can't say I wasn't nervous about the unknown. We parked and made our way in to admissions. Ironically, it was the first time I'd ever set foot in St. Joseph hospital. Ironic because of the thousands of hours Charles has spent there. Literally thousands.

Anyway, we got checked in and make our way up to labor and delivery, and got the administrative side of things going. Flattering hospital gown. IV. A million questions from nurses and residents* and the anesthesia team. Another (always fun) check on progress.

When all was said and done, they started pitocin at about 8:30. For the first two hours, we watched the Olympics, ate ice chips (disappointingly old school--at least give me real water, people!), and hung out. Contractions were getting regular and were more uncomfortable, but still not too bad.

My main complain the whole time was that my nurse, who was so kind and very competent, was also an insane chatterbox. Like she made small talk constantly--even through contractions--to the point of being really annoying, and keeping Charles and I from having any conversations (important, ridiculous or otherwise) of/on our own.

I had my second check at 10:15ish without much progress, but after that, things started picking up. Contractions were getting really hard to sit through, and I was definitely breathing/not talking/wouldn't be walking through them. 

I got out of bed to use the restroom with the intention of laboring on the yoga ball after, but standing felt so good, I decided to stand/sway through them instead. 

By now, the contractions were pretty regular and pretty intense. I was definitely breathing/ working through them. I'd found through the last weeks of pregnancy that praying the Hail Mary through uncomfortable contractions/checks/whatever was really comforting and helped me to relax greatly. 2 or 3 Hail Marys really got me through each contraction. I'm sure calling in divine comfort and assistance aided me to that end as well. 

I also found great comfort in the Crucifix. Because I delivered at a Catholic hospital, there was one in the room and I happened to have positioned myself so it was right in front of me while I was up and out of bed. Maybe my guardian angel helped me get there. Regardless, focusing on Christ and His sacrifice, and trying (however pitifully) to unite my suffering to His, also helped me work through contractions. 

At noonish, they came to check me again. Progress! Officially declared to be in active labor!

Throughout my pregnancy, I had debated the epidural question, in part because of how fast I went with Peter. Finally, I had come down to  the realization that natural onset of labor would likely go too fast to bother, but if I was induced I was going for the meds. I wasn't trying to be a hero, and didn't see any reason to work through 6 more centimeters unmedicated.

So, since I was officially "in labor" the plan was to get the epidural, break my water and go from there. 

According to everyone, the anesthesiologist on call was The Best, and soon he and his nurse were in my room working their magic. 

Sure enough, in spite of the world's most uncomfortable labor position, and even though I had breathed and tried to relax and pray and was straight coached through a lot of rough contractions by Charles (who also got his hand squeezed like I was trying to do serious damage), the epidural worked its magic and the pain? Gone!

So, back the residents came to check again and break my water. But now? 8 and then 10 centimeters! Baby time!

They let me labor down, thanks to the epidural, while the team got things ready for delivery, then it was time to push.

I was actually nervous, because the epidural was so fresh and because I had no feeling of pressure or needing to push or anything "baby is coming"-y. That was one thing about Peter's birth--I definitely experienced that primal urge to push!

But, as it turns out, I'm one of those people who is naturally fairly good at pushing, and even without feeling it, I was pretty effective. I pushed through about 4 contractions and then...there he was!
It was interesting, because from the angle I was at, I could see that baby was a Dominic* at the same time as everyone else. No big "it's a boy!" announcement--just a lot of comments that yep, it was a boy.

They did immediate akin to skin (I was feeling very Mama Bear--give me my baby)! He was slow in pinking up, though, so the newborn team pulled him over to the warmer to clear mucous and get color in him. I got all teary waiting and watching--talk about hormones! I'm sure his initial set of Apgars was less than stellar, but once they got him going, a few minutes that felt like forever later, he was fine. They put him back on my chest and we snuggled (and Dominic started rooting), while they finished the slowest set of repairs ev-er for a barely second-degree tear. 

Finally, I got to sit back and nurse and let people know that the baby arrived. About this time, Charles and I were finally given a minute alone to finally decide on a middle name--Jude winning at long last*--to share with family and friends.

After a couple of hours, we were moved to a recovery room--the giant corner room, actually (perk of delivering where Dad works!). My in-laws brought the big kids to visit.

"Reading" to her brothers

"Baby Domnick, I love you."

My little mama

We ate and rested and nursed and got bored and got the heck outta Dodge 26 hours after birth, when we got the all clear on bilirubin! I don't care what anyone else says, there's no place like home!

Since then, things have been great! So far, we're enjoying the sleepy newborn phase, the sweet tiny baby snuggles, the help/company/baby holders, and Charles' days off + relatively easy schedule this month.

As nervous as I was about the induction, it could not have gone more smoothly. I was on the piton for about 5 hours from start to baby, and once labor kick started, things progressed fast: a little more than two hours from the onset of hard contractions to baby; one hour from 4 cm to complete -- it looks like those contractions while they were placing the epidural were as bad as they seemed. I'm sure all of those things will impact decision making if we have more kids. I'm mostly just grateful for a good experience, and for a healthy baby boy. 

Yeah. We're all smitten!

First family pic -- not cropped. :S

*Blog post forthcoming

Peter's Birth Story (Part 2 of 2)

Part 1 here



We got to the hospital about 9, got checked in, and landed in triage for assessment. 3 cm, 80% effaced, and strong contractions, but a bit too spaced out. The order: walking, so off we went.

This was when clock time sort of entered a parallel universe for me. I couldn’t have told you what time it was, which is something I experienced with Clare’s L&D, too. After 45 minutes of walking and contracting (and my weird commentary on the artwork), we headed back, as assigned, to triage to see what was happening. Not too much progress (up to 3.5), but since I was a second time mom, and since I was contracting regularly, we got sent to walk some more.  Additionally, the nurse told us that my doctor was on his way in for another delivery, and that we would touch base with him when he arrived in order to formulate a plan.

The second walk was not successful. My contractions were becoming unbearably painful, and that pain was radiating into my hips and bottom, which made it really hard for me to get through them. After about 10 minutes, we headed back to triage to wait it out there. We let the nurse know and began what seemed like an interminable wait, unmonitored, while I suffered through increasingly strong and increasingly close contractions. Charles said later that this period lasted about an hour. Because the pain was so low in my body, I was having an extraordinarily difficult time finding a comfortable position – I wanted every last ounce of weight off my lower half, but there was no way to make that happen. (In retrospect, I think water would have been the best solution, but again, being trapped in triage, that wouldn’t have been helpful knowledge anyway.)

Finally, the nurse came in to do a check and get me on the monitors. I was really struggling through contractions, and really struggling to lie down to get checked. Finally, I announced that the pressure was just too much and that I really felt like I needed to use the restroom.

Now, everyone jumped into action and got me checked again. I had gone from 3.5 to 6 pretty quickly, and because of the pressure, it was clear to everyone that things were going fast. Suddenly there were a ton of nurses and techs – trying to get blood for labs and fluids going to get an epidural going as quickly as possible. I was rapid-fire rolled into a labor and delivery room. Deep down, though, I already knew: I was doing this without meds.

Once they got me into the room, the urge to push became really intense. I was ready to push. I needed to. I couldn’t not push. It is so cliché, but it was primal. It was a knowledge that I definitely didn’t have with Clare’s birth (which was more “sure, there’s pressure. I could push”). They checked me again. Complete. That’s when they told me what I think we all knew all along: the epidural wasn’t going to happen.

In a flurry of action, everything was prepared. I continued to fight through contractions in disbelief. My doctor came in, seemingly ambushed and as surprised by this turn of events as the rest of us. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he surveyed the situation and said, “Oh, Ashley.” He got gowned and gloved, and we all got down to business. I have no idea how long I pushed or how many pushes there were. My one moment of clarity was when, early on, my water was finally broken, and there was an announcement that it “ruptured clear.” I hadn’t had a moment to think about my water not having broken or worry about a repeat of the meconium that we had with Clare, but it was a relief. It was a million pushes later and over in a moment all at the same time. It felt every bit as movies-dramatic as I can imagine with my pushing and the encouragement from everyone around me.

When all was said, screamed, and done, Peter Damien arrived at 12:53 am on Monday, April 7, 2014. Technically, he was two days late, but with so much of the work being done on Sunday, it felt like one. He was 7 lbs, 4 oz, just like his sister, but a half-inch longer, checking in at 20 inches.

Meeshtow Man (TM Clare)

I have definitely needed time to process everything that happened. As it was happening, I didn’t feel too upset or frustrated. It just happened, and time sort of stood still. On the other hand, Charles was really upset with his assessment of the situation (both personally and medically) and, in particular, with the triage nurse who let me labor unmonitored (in triage) for so long. Walking the halls the next day, I found myself pretty angry walking by “my” bed in triage, curtain 3. I still feel like the experience is what it is, and all I can do is learn from it. I am definitely a stronger person for it, but I don’t know for sure how I would feel if I were to walk by triage again.

Looking back on things, I am really proud of myself. I never planned on doing an unmedicated birth. In spite of myself, I have to admit that I felt really empowered to be able to say, “I did it.” My recovery has gone well, but I wouldn’t be too quick to give too much credit to the medicated/unmedicated situation – I think being a second time mom, having a less severe tear, and having a toddler to care for (both before and after delivery) have made a world of difference anyway. It’s just impossible to know how it would have gone if I had gotten an epidural. (Random thing I want to remember but doesn’t really fit in anywhere are the burst blood vessels along my jaw line from the intensity of pushing. Also healed up nicely.)

Through the whole thing, Charles was an absolute rock star, and my rock. He was so calm and confident and encouraging – I honestly don’t know if I could have done it without him at my side. I mean I guess I would have had to, but I’d have been an even bigger mess than I already was.

Immediately after delivery, I said that I never wanted to do it that way again. And I don’t. There was too much anxiety, tension, and fear, not to mention the intensity of the pain. I thank God for a lot of little things that went well (like my doctor being there for delivery, in spite of everything), and for a healthy baby and mama. I do, however, think that, if I’m blessed to have more kids in the future, I need to be prepared for another fast-moving delivery. I need to be more equipped with better pain management techniques, and I need to talk things through with my doctor so that any chaos can be better managed.

And no matter what else, the payoff was most definitely worth it.

Yep

Peter's Birth Story (Part 1 of 2)

Clare's Birth Story
End-of-Pregnancy Thoughts

{Expect TMI of various types. If you don't like it, don't read it. Just don't say you weren't warned! Also, even broken into parts, it’s long. Again, fair warning.}

As I made amply clear in the days/weeks leading up to Peter's very much awaited birth, I was done, done, done with being pregnant. I was over it long before it was even okay to be over it.

I started noticing Braxton Hicks contractions fairly early on, with weeks to go, and they would frequently pick up in the evenings, but never to an alarming degree. Toward the end of pregnancy, I had a false alarm or twenty -- not enough to send me to labor and delivery, but enough to start timing and thinking things would pick up, but they inevitably died down instead.

It turned into a total, complete, disastrous mind game. I was exhausted, sore, frustrated, tired of waking up every day wondering if that would be the day, tired of going to bed disappointed every night, no longer confident in my own ability to listen to, know, and trust my own body.
 
Saturday, April 5 was my due date. Charles, meanwhile, woke up with a sour stomach that quickly turned out to be a nasty stomach bug, with all the fun that a stomach bug brings. He spent most of the day sleeping, trying to hydrate/put food on his stomach, and, um, clearing his stomach of its previously held contents. I was an emotional mess. I was cranky to say the least – I had a sick, miserable husband, a very busy toddler, and no baby (and no baby in sight). It was starting to seem unlikely that I would ever have a baby, in spite of all logic to the contrary. And the then-current circumstances were less than ideal for having a baby anyway. I found myself ignoring well-meaning texts and phone calls of loved ones checking in on me. I tried to make the most of it (referring, I guess, to life), but failed utterly, miserably, and completely.

Were there contractions Saturday night? Probably, but they were not the mind-twisting variety, so I certainly didn’t get worked up about them. I woke up Sunday morning feeling zen about things for the first time in weeks. I was overdue. If the baby hadn’t come in a week, Charles and I had agreed that we’d induce at 41 weeks, especially since I was super-duper confident about our dates (thanks, NFP). In that knowledge, there was, in some small way, an end in sight.

This is how Clare got ready that morning.

We went to our usual 9am Mass, and I could confidently say that it was the last Mass we would attend without a baby. It was the kind of thinking that lightened my step. As we were walking in, I noticed a contraction, but had stopped thinking anything of one silly little contraction.  They continued through Mass and after we got home, and they were getting closer together. Closer than any contractions I had had to date. My gut told me that this was the beginning of the end, even if we had a long way to go. At lunchtime, I talked to Charles and we decided to put his parents (who were going to watch Clare while we were at the hospital) “on stand by” juuuuuuuust in case.

We went to run some errands, and the contractions continued. Not very painful (but not painless!) and 10-15 minutes apart. I could still walk and talk, but things were continuing to look promising. I tried to get rest that afternoon, and by 4 talked Charles into letting his parents come over for dinner and to take Clare. I wasn’t ready to go to the hospital, but I thought I would most likely be at that point sometime overnight. I didn’t blame him for his initial skepticism. I had clearly been wrong before. Like I say, I didn’t trust my own instinct at that point, not 100%.

Proof that this is going somewhere

Before they came over, we went for a walk to (hopefully) get things moving. By the end, I could no longer walk or really talk through my contractions, and I think Charles and I both agreed that we had made a good call on the grandparent smoke signals.

I tried to rest some more, watching an endless stream of HGTV while Charles got dinner together, and his parents arrived. The contractions were getting closer (5-10 minutes) and were painful enough that I had to sit quietly and breathe deeply through them, but still not the intense, get-me-to-the-hospital-NOW contractions we both remembered from Clare.

As an aside, at our birth class before Clare was born, the nurse-instructor pointed out that you can tell a lot about someone’s pain level (and labor stage!) from their face as they are experiencing the pain. From his time doing the (student) doctor thing in labor and delivery, Charles has often said that he found that it really is true. As I went through all the fake­-out contractions (and even the early stages of the real deal), Charles often commented on my facial state and his “professional” assessment that I wasn’t really there yet.

After dinner, we got Clare loaded up and ready to spend the night with Grandma and Grandpa. I got super teary saying goodbye, knowing that it was the last time I was going to be the Mama of one, and telling her that she would always be my Girly Schmirly (my silly nickname for her). I tear up again just typing it.

As I was walking back inside, a contraction came and hit me like a ton of bricks. I was doubled over on the wall. Definitely breathing, not walking or talking. These were for real, and they kept coming, 3-6 minutes apart. Since we live about 30 minutes from the hospital, we decided to get moving. As I said then, I’d rather walk there, if they needed me to, than here. We got the last of our stuff together and headed out.



To Be Continued . . . (Link to Part 2)

Little's Birth Story

Why yes, this is very long. And no, the picture payoff doesn't come 'til the end. Oh well.

Little had a blessedly uncomplicated pregnancy and a blessedly uncomplicated delivery, but I want to record the memories anyway. I've actually had this sitting in draft form for months, but hadn't bothered finishing it or putting in pictures, but since Grace decided to link-up birth stories, I decided to finish, so I wouldn't feel so guilty/stalkerish about reading everyone's stories without giving a little to the greater good.

Also, it's a birth story, there will be no TMI warnings. TMI is a given.

We had 3 different due dates floating around. According to my chart, she was due July 17. According to my LMP, she was due July 20. according to an 8 week ultrasound, she was due July 13. None of it mattered, as she did things her way a few days early. We should have known then that it would be her way or the highway.

At a wedding the Saturday before Little was born. I was very puffy and pregnant.

The story really starts July 9, which was our wedding anniversary. C had a training in the morning, but then was off. We celebrated with mass, a ginormous (and ginormously unhealthy) lunch, and then had my then-weekly trip to the torture chamber doctor's office for said torture: a check-in/cervical check. I was at 2 cm and pretty effaced. We talked about when we would consider induction -- I was adamant not to make any decision until after 40 weeks.

After that, there was some normal (for me) post-exam cramping and spotting. We went on a walk. We had Mexican for dinner. We went to bed, because C had an early morning. I mean, it was cray, y'all. Sometime in the middle of the night when I woke up, I could feel that things were different. I can't describe how, exactly, I just could tell. I knew real labor was starting, but obviously didn't know how fast or slow things would happen. When C rolled over, half awake and mostly asleep (what, your husband doesn't do that?), I told him that Little was coming "either today or tomorrow." In my head, that was a reference to not knowing how long labor would last. In his mind it was a mere mother's intuition prediction.

At 4 am, I was wide awake in pure nesting mode. There was a list of stuff I needed to get done before the baby came, by golly, and it was going to happen. At 6, I was up and working on my list. By 8, the contractions were getting going. By 9, I was begging C to come home. Needless to say, my to do list was not done.

Praise be to God, C was rotating with a veeeeery understanding doctor doing outpatient internal medicine who had already given him the clear to head out when necessary for the impending delivery. Less luckily, said rotation was about an hour away from home.

While he was making his way home, the contractions got bad. They were never classically timeable, so 5-1-1 never worked for me. I had to go on the instinct that I was definitely in labor and I definitely needed to head to the hospital. Later, the nurse would tell me what I sort of knew by instinct/experience, which was that I would have a really big contraction that would be followed by several little contractions, sort of like aftershocks. Fun. While C was coming home, I was trying to get my last-minute stuff into my packed-a-million-years-early-because-I-was-a-first-time-mom bag, laboring on all-fours and in the shower, and praying for relief. I was hurting. Big time.

Clearly, natural birth was not for me. I never really thought it was, but the epidural seemed a little scary, so I said I wasn't going to make a decision until the day-of. Then the contractions hit. Decision made.

C got home, thew his things into a bag, loaded everything into the car, and handed me a granola bar. We both knew I wouldn't get to eat at the hospital, so he wanted to make sure I got as many calories as I could before the real work began. In the car, I was like the women in movies -- begging the car and the traffic to move faster -- begging for pain meds -- clutching the door handle through contractions.

Finally, I got checked in and into triage. Never mind the whole pre-registration thing not working at all. There, I was joined behind the curtains of doom by one mama on baby number 7 (or was it 8?) and coming quickly, and one woman who was very, very, very, VERY displeased with the care she was receiving. From what I could tell (and I heard every.single.angry.word she said), she had some legitimate concerns. But screaming, cussing like a sailor, threatening legal action, and planning to walk out of the hospital didn't seem like the way to go about getting answers to her questions.  Yeah, that was fun. And by fun, I mean I was virtually in tears wanting to get out, but was a lowish priority for the less-than-warm triage nurse. Speaking of said lovely nurse, at one point she begged me "not to ralph" on her. 'Cause laboring ladies have such perfect control of their bodily functions.

Finally, they told me I was 4cm and progressing, checked me into a L&D room, and made arrangements for that epidural I wanted so badly.

Soon enough, I was epi'd up, and the story gets pretty boring. I didn't feel anything except the obnoxious monitors digging into my skin. My right leg was totally numb, but my left leg could function. We quickly learned that the speaker for the in-room TV needed much, much improvement, so we passed hours watching Arrested Development on Netflix, praying, making phone calls, sending text message updates, scaring residents, etc.

What was that passing remark about scaring residents? Well, Little was born at a teaching hospital on July 10, so the two 1st year residents/interns we saw had been real, live practicing doctors for all of 10 days at that point, since the "medical year" begins July 1. In other words, they might not have been the most confident, experienced medical professionals at that point. Since C is a medical student and all, we were not concerned and found the whole thing something of a novelty. So, we found ourselves chatting with our poor resident and asking her what we perceived to be friendly questions that basically freaked her out (surely thinking that we were ready to complain about her incompetency). The situation peaked when she tried to use a 1 million year old ultrasound machine to be assured that Little was head-down and ready to be birthed and couldn't get it to work. She was clearly mortified, found a newer machine, and was pretty much terrified by us until her shift was over. We decided to be easier on the next resident (ie not ask any questions), but in retrospect, she seemed like she could handle it a little bit better.

Our families, meanwhile, jumped into action. My dad headed south. My sister made a split-second decision to come fly into Phoenix from San Diego on Tuesday, instead of Thursday or Friday or whenever she had planned to come. My aunt, cousin, MIL and FIL all began awaiting the okay to head over to the hospital.

By 5.30, I was at 9ish cm, still hadn't had my water break, and the crew was gathering in the waiting room awaiting the arrival of Little Miss Little. Never again. I really hate making people wait for me, and knowing that there was a group of people twiddling their thumbs, milling around the hospital (the most boring thing in the world) ended up causing me a ton of stress.

I really don't know where the next 2.5 hours went. My water finally broke when I was at 9.5 cm (my doc didn't want it broken before that, don't ask me why). There was meconium, so the precautionary NICU team had to be assembled. At about 7:30, I was deemed ready to push. Pushing was pretty uneventful. The epi was still totally in effect. They only had me push on the big contractions and gave me oxygen in between to be sure that Little was doing okay. It lasted a big, fat 40 minutes.

Our first family picture

At 8:12, she made her debut. I got to have a minute of skin-to-skin before she was given the weigh, wipe, and declaration of being aspirated-meconium-free. The docs did doctor stuff that I was too engrossed with Little to notice until later when the epi wore off and the pain set in. She took to nursing right away, and I let the paparazzi in between sides so that I could send them home and be done with them. Love the fam. Didn't love knowing they were outside waiting and waiting...

iPhone paparazzi

Anyway, Clare Louise checked in at 8:12 on July 10, 2012. She was 7lbs, 4oz, and 19.5 inches. And she was beautiful and healthy and perfect. God blessed us big time.

Perfect

<3

The next day, but pre-shower. :P

Also, new-daddy C couldn't resist, so you can see the pro pics here.