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Birth Stories

Sela’s Birth Story | Part 2
Birth StoriesKelly

Sela’s Birth Story | Part 2

by Jill June 24, 2020
written by Jill

If you missed the first part of Sela’s birth story, a pandemic birth story, be sure to click here and read this first.

I was the first one to bring it up – “If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to do a C-section?”

The Pushing Continues

The answer was yes, if I continued to push but the baby’s head didn’t come down in the right position, a C-section was a possibility. But in the same breath he assured me that was no one’s first choice, and that we weren’t in any immediate danger, I could continue to push.

I think it was about 10:30pm and I had been pushing for two hours. I felt somewhat energized by all this talk of a C-section and gathered a second wind. I did not want a C-section, I wanted to push this baby with a head full of hair out of my body before midnight.

That was my goal, have this baby before midnight!

I pushed energetically for another hour, and then like a switch went off between one contraction and the next, I hit a wall. My blood pressure dropped, the baby’s heart rate dropped, things got a scary again, and the doctor’s tone changed.

He said, “You’re pushing really well, but the position of the baby’s head is making it extremely difficult to get down and under your pubic bone. If the baby’s heart rate keeps dropping the way it is, and I can’t get the vacuum on to assist, it could result in an emergency situation. It’s up to you if you’d like to try for a little longer, we can keep going if you want, but if the baby’s heart rate drops that low again we need to consider other options.”

I knew he meant option, singular, there was only one. I sat with that for a minute. Actually, less than a minute. I looked at Matt and said, “I’m done. I can’t keep going. I’d rather throw in the towel now and have time to get ready for surgery than keep pushing and risk it becoming an emergency. I don’t want to have to go under general anesthesia, I don’t want you to miss the birth of our child.”

C-Section Became THE Option

It took me less than a minute to reach the decision, and even less time to be at peace with it. I was so done. I had hit my physical limit and exhausted all my reserves. I knew that if I kept going I was not only risking missing the birth of my child, but also the safety of my child. Matt nodded, and then I looked at the doctor and said, “I’m done. I don’t want to risk it.”

He agreed with me that it was a good decision. I had zero reservations. I didn’t feel like I had failed. I was not sad. I didn’t feel betrayed or pressured. I was honestly so incredibly relieved.

The nurses laid me back down and made me comfortable. It would be about an hour before the OR would be ready. In the meantime they began prepping me for surgery. The clock struck midnight and we knew we’d be having a Saint Patrick’s Day baby.

Finally, at around 12:30am they wheeled me back to the operating room. I was shaking uncontrollably, but I wasn’t cold. My teeth were chattering so loudly, I was worried I might do actual damage to my crown. Pat the anesthesiologist came in to administer my epidural again, and although I didn’t recognize her face, I did recognize her voice. Sweet voice of an angel, that pain relieving goddess. Pat distracted me while the OR buzzed with activity around me.

At one point, I heard the nurse say, “Is that low enough, or should I take care of that?” She was referring to my pubic hair. Hey, I hadn’t planned for this! I cleaned up, you know, like *down* there, but I paid no mind to the top. That’s when I heard clippers buzzing. That nurse took care of it, alright.

I realized days later she basically gave me a pubic mullet, like super short on top, little longer down below. How low did she think my bikini line was?!

There was a bunch of activity below the drape after that, and I started to panic a little because I could feel things. I told Pat, who was up by my head, “Um, is it normal to feel things, should I be feeling things, I feel things!” To which she replied, “What do you feel, honey? They made the incision a few minutes ago.” I don’t know what I thought I felt, but I definitely did not feel the incision, so I figured it was probably safe to say I was numb enough.

Prepped and ready to be dissected!

Then Matt got to come in, he was decked out in full OR garb that was all way too small for him because he is 6’8″. I feel like thirty minutes passed, but it was closer to three minutes before they said, “Alright Dad, do you want to announce the gender or should we?” Matt said he would do it, and they told him to get ready.

“Okay Dad, you can stand up and take a look.”

Side note – I have never seen Matt around immense amounts of blood or anything surgical, but I know he hates needles. A tiny part of me was legitimately worried he might be the giant man that faints in the OR at the sight of his partner being cut open. He did not.

She’s Here!

He stood up and leaned closer to the drape and said, “It’s… a… …. … is that a… it’s a… (OHMYGOD WHAT IS IT?!)… it’s a girl? It’s a girl!”

And at 1:01am on March 17th, 2020, Sela Markie Mandrella was born.

She let the world know it right away by letting out a big, screechy baby squawk (I have since learned that particular cry is reserved for when she is truly pissed off). I looked at Matt and his glasses were fogging up. He was crying, and I was crying, and Sela was crying.

They took her to the isolette, and I think collectively the entire OR staff made some kind of remark about how big she was, but all I could hear was her crying, and the only thing I could see as I strained my neck to look over my shoulder at the isolette was her two giant feet sticking straight up in the air.

My god, those tiny, giant feet. 9 lbs, 3 oz, and 21″ long. Man, am I glad that did not exit my vagina.

THOSE. FEET.

They wrapped her up and handed her to Matt, she was still crying her screechy, squawky baby cry. He turned her head toward my head, and what happened next I knew to be aware of after listening to one particular birth story.

She was crying loudly as Matt put her face near mine and then I said her name for the first time. When she heard my voice, she stopped crying immediately. I said it again and she opened her eyes wide. She knew my voice.

I wanted desperately to hold her, but I was shaking so badly I was scared I would drop her. So Matt held her while they finished putting me back together. It felt like an eternity. Finally we left the OR, Sela in her isolette, me on my gurney, and Matt by my side, at 2am.

I have never been so exhausted and so wired at the same time, or so damn thirsty.

I was shaking to violently to hold her by myself.

She stopped crying the moment she heard my voice.

Man, I miss those pregnancy nails.

First family photo. Shout out to Pat the Anesthesiologist/Photographer!

After the nurses helped me sit up in bed, I got to hold Sela for the first time back in our delivery room. I was still shaking a bit, my teeth were still chattering, but we were both wide awake. We did skin to skin for about an hour and she eventually latched for a few minutes. She fell asleep, and as exhausted as I was, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Poor Matt could have fallen asleep standing up at that point, and he was drifting in and out in the chair that was way too small for him next to my bed. Eventually a nurse from the mother-baby floor came to our room. Since I couldn’t stand up, Matt stood with Sela across the room while this nurse went over what felt like 8 hours of instruction, paper work, tests, pamphlets, and she might have recited the entire dictionary, I lost track.

This woman was in zero rush, and droned on at a snail’s pace in a monotone voice while Matt and I struggled to keep our eyes open. It took forever. I’ll talk more about it in a follow up post, but this was the beginning of a not so enjoyable postpartum stay in the hospital.

It was 6:30am before we were finally settled in our recovery room and able to fall asleep. I had not slept more than three hours in two days, I had not eaten a crumb in over 36 hours, I had labored for 14 hours and pushed for three, and I had been cut open while I was wide awake and could feel nothing below my belly button.

And yet, here I was, looking at my daughter in her bassinet, listening to Matt snore from across the room, and I was happier than I had ever been.

Finally holding her for the first time.

She was so awake for the first hour, just taking it all in.

I was beyond exhausted, but so wired.

So much hair.

Her face was all Matt when she was born, but those long toes are all me.

Stay tuned for the rest of the story. I’ll be back to share more about my postpartum recovery soon.

How in the world did she fit inside of my body?

 

June 24, 2020 15 comments
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Sela’s COVID Birth Story | Part 1
Birth StoriesKelly

Sela’s COVID Birth Story | Part 1

by Kelly Williams June 24, 2020
written by Kelly Williams

I gave birth to my first baby on March 17, 2020. It was nearly the exact moment the US began to shut down because of the COVID-19 pandemic. My pregnancy was full of surprises from the start, but ending with a COVID birth story was the biggest surprise of them all. 

I knew my fate. I was not certain of many things during pregnancy, but I knew in my heart of hearts that I would go past my due date. I told my doctor this at my 28 week appointment – if my sister was any indication (she was a few days past 40 weeks with all four of her kids), then I would likely be “overdue”.

At the time, my doctor sweetly reassured me that going beyond 40 weeks is normal, common, and completely okay. As 38, 39, 40 weeks came and went, however, I was not completely okay.

Holy shit, was I tired of being pregnant. Oh, and holy shit, a PANDEMIC.

My COVID birth story | BabyRabies.com

This was my permanent expression from 38 weeks on.

Before Labor Started

At my 38 week appointment, I asked my doctor if he could sweep my membranes (seriously, I wanted to get this show on the road). He said he would try, and boy did he try. Ouch. I was nowhere near dilated that day, which made it all the more thrilling when later that night I discovered some really gross stuff in my undies! I took it to be my mucus plug and texted my sister a picture of it.

Don’t worry, I asked her if she wanted to see it first and triple checked that I didn’t accidentally send it to our family thread for our parents and brother to enjoy.

Yup! That’s what it looked like! Oh my god, I could go into labor any minute!!! (Bless you heart, sweet and hopeful 38-week pregnant Kelly, you dear thing. Labor? Any minute? Oh, dear, such sweet and innocent optimism.) Fast forward two full weeks, two more membrane sweeps, two more “lost mucus plugs”, and maybe two centimeters of dilation. I was still pregnant AF.

The things you text your sister, and ONLY your sister.

At my 40 week appointment, on March 9th, we made a plan for induction. If I didn’t go into labor on my own, I was to be induced at 41+1 on March 16th, 2020. I could have pushed my doctor to let me go to 42 weeks, even though he had stated that he was really more comfortable with 41 weeks. I could have put my foot down, and he would have conceded. But I didn’t. In fact, much to my own surprise, I completely welcomed the idea of an induction.

I had moved past the very uncomfortable stage of pregnancy onto the in constant pain stage of pregnancy. However, my biggest motivating factor was not my mental or physical state, but rather the state of the world that week.

This IS a COVID Birth Story

As more and more information became available to the public, the great Toilet Paper Shortage of 2020 began to really hit its stride. Hand sanitizer became a regulated commodity, and the term “out of an abundance of caution” became a catch phrase. Suddenly people who thought everyone was overreacting in the beginning of March began realizing the gravity of this pandemic.

There were still so many unknowns, and so many things were shifting daily, hourly, that I embraced the notion of knowing exactly what day my baby would be born.  I spent my last week of pregnancy alternating between soaking up every bit of information I could and completely shutting down, avoiding anything but Project Runway and HGTV reruns.

Matt’s parents got to town on my actual due date, March 8th, and tried their best to distract us, but having them here made me feel like a watched pot that would never boil. Everyone still held out hope that I’d go into labor. Looking back, I think I hoped I wouldn’t.

My COVID birth story | BabyRabies.com

5 days past 40 weeks and I still had not dropped an inch.

My own mom got to town on Sunday the 15th, the night before my induction. As we were getting her settled in the AirBnB across the street from us, I got a call from the hospital. I answered assuming they were calling to confirm I hadn’t had a baby yet and would still require their services the next day.

They were actually calling to inform us that, due to the pandemic, I would be allowed only one visitor while in the hospital.

At first, I took that to mean that only my mom, or Matt’s mom, or Matt’s dad could visit us. The nurse clarified that Matt would be considered my one and only “visitor” for the duration of my stay. No other family would be able to visit us at any point.

That was extremely disappointing, but we all also completely understood. Plus, I was grateful that I didn’t have to designate just one of our parents to be *the* visitor.

Binge watching anything but the news.

The Induction

After tossing and turning for a few hours that night, I finally accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be getting any meaningful amount of sleep. The best I could do was try to rest. I was, of course, nervous and excited, but most of all I was in a lot of pain. I may have gotten all of 45 minutes of sleep before our alarm went off at 4am.

We arrived at the hospital a little before 5am and were escorted to the room where I was to labor and deliver. It was very quiet and dark in the unit that early in the morning. As we walked down the hall, I heard a woman scream, followed by a voice saying “Come on honey, you got this!” That is the moment it hit me that I was going to be in actual labor soon, almost as if the thought had never truly occurred to me before. 

A lot happened fairly quickly once we got to our room. I changed into the gown while Matt unpacked a bit. The night shift nurse came in to get my vitals, fill out paper work, start my IV antibiotics (I was GBS positive), and check my cervix. While she was checking me she asked how far the doctor said I was at my last appointment.

I told her that he said I was about three centimeters dilated. She chuckled and shook her head, “Oh honey… hate to break it to you but you are about a two if I’m being real generous. Closer to a one, I’d say.” I think my doctor knew this and was trying to give me hope at my last appointment.

Once that was done, the nurses had a shift change and it was quiet for a bit. My IV was going, and I was wide awake. At 7:30am, my doctor appeared at our door. I love my doctor for reasons I can expand upon another time, so seeing his cheery face made me very happy, in a sort of sentimental way.

It was like our teammate had arrived and we were ready for the big game. We discussed the game plan – once this bag of antibiotics was in me, we’d get the Pitocin going at a very slow drip to start, and after that we’d place the balloon. He left to go check on other patients and the day shift nurse arrived to get things rolling.

Before she started the Pitocin she remarked that I was actually already having some contractions according to the monitor. I may be wrong, but I have a sneaking suspicion they might say this to all induction mamas, just to make them feel a little better. It worked, I felt pretty good.

Hooked up and ready to go… nowhere any time soon.

I had no real plan for my birth, other than I was pretty sure I’d want an epidural.

Once it became clear that I’d be induced, however, I knew there was no way I was not getting an epidural. The only preparation I did for my birth was binge listen to The Birth Hour podcast (shout out to Bryn Huntpalmer for crafting an awesome resource), and I had heard enough episodes to know that those Pitocin contractions are no joke.

Spoiler alert, it turns out Pitocin contractions are indeed no joke. Nary a joke to be had. No joke at all, sir.

At 9am, after being on Pitocin for about an hour, my doctor came back to insert the balloon into my cervix. We had gone over this at my 40 week appointment, and I had heard many a birth story involving this crazy contraption, so I was sort of prepared for it. Sort of.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s basically a catheter that is inserted into your cervix, then filled with fluid to inflate a small balloon on the end, forcing your cervix to start dilating. Having it inserted hurt like, for lack of a better term, an absolute mother fucker. But once it was in, I didn’t really feel any different.

At this point the nurse upped the Pitocin drip a bit, told me to call if I needed anything, and bid us adieu. I was still very much awake, but I knew that these hours were precious. I knew I really needed to take advantage of this “downtime” to catch up on rest. I was barely feeling the contractions, the antibiotics were going, the balloon was in, and the nurse didn’t need to check anything for at least a few hours.

Wanna guess how much sleep I got?  Ha.

I will say, I had this fantasy in my head that I’d be walking around, moving, doing laps around the hospital while I labored. Because I had the balloon and was on Pitocin, they said I could get out of bed and use the yoga ball, but I couldn’t leave my room or take my monitors off. That was the most annoying part of labor – the effing monitors.

All the cords and tubes and doodads tethering me to my bed and the area directly surrounding my bed, needing to get disconnected and reconnected every time I had to pee. I tried for the rest of the morning to rest while I could. I listened to a few podcasts and attempted to doze.

Labor

I wouldn’t say I ever slept, but I did get some rest. Every hour or so the nurse came in to increase my Pitocin, and by noon I was definitely feeling contractions. It was starting to get uncomfortable. Around 1pm she tugged on the catheter in my cervix to see if the balloon would fall out. It’s supposed to just slip on out once you’re dilated to about 4 or 5 cm, so the fact that it was still very much stuck in there was a little discouraging.

At 2pm-ish (my best recollection) the contractions started requiring my focus. At first just being aware that I didn’t hold my breath or tense my body up was all I had to do to get through them. They quickly became more and more intense, though. By 3pm I was really having to focus all my energy into breathing.

The nurse came into check on me, watched me have a few contractions, told me I was doing a great job breathing, and asked if she could check on the balloon again. This time it came out with no resistance when she tugged on it. I took comfort in the fact that although it was starting to get painful, I knew I was at least 5cm dilated. Half way there.

Little did I know, that balloon was the only thing standing between me and the big boss contractions. Immediately they started coming harder, faster, and lasting longer, and this is where I entered the time warp that is LaLa Labor Land.

It’s not that time stood still. It did not.

When I was in between contractions time was warp speed, but while I was in a contraction time slowed down so that each second was a minute. I breathed and moaned through another hour or so, Matt tried his best to squeeze my hips and put pressure where it would help. I think I ultimately told him to stop. touching. me.

(Did anyone else give their partner the “I‘m going to say really mean things and you cannot take it personally” talk?)

The nurse came back around 4pm to increase the Pitocin and hang another bag of IV antibiotics. I knew it was time to start thinking about an epidural. I wasn’t quite there yet, but I also knew better than to wait until I hit my wall to ask for one. I’m glad I brought it up when I did.

Epidural Time

The nurse gave me two options – she could give me some IV pain meds now (as in, NOW or never), or she could order the epidural, BUT… before I could have the epidural I would need another entire bag of fluids. Also, the anesthesiologist was about to head into a C-section and wouldn’t be available for another hour and a half or so.

I opted for the pain meds to see how far they would take me, but I told the nurse to definitely get the fluid started because I wanted an epidural.

At 4:30pm she administered the IV pain meds. I’m not entirely sure what it was she administered, fairly certain it was an opiate though. It did all the things that opiates usually do to me, except make any real dent in the pain department. So I was basically a little high, a little fuzzy, very sleepy, but still very much feeling every second of each contraction. It did give me the ability to snooze in between contractions.

Around 5pm, however, whatever that fun stuff was wore off, and this is when I lost it. I wasn’t screaming, but I was crying. I kept telling Matt between each contraction,

“It’s bad, it’s getting bad, it’s getting really bad, I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’m not ready.”

My focused breathing became terrified panting, and I kept telling him, “That was a bad one, that was a bad one.” That’s all I remember saying, over and over.

Finally at 5:30pm, the nurse came in and I pleaded with her to get the anesthesiologist, even if my fluids weren’t finished, or if I couldn’t get the epidural soon, for the love of God, please stop upping the damn Pitocin. She said, “Let me go see where she’s at. She might still be in surgery, honey. You might have to wait for a little bit.”

And at that moment, I made a pact with myself that I would never, ever have another baby as the next contraction came.

My COVID birth story | BabyRabies.com

I did not know it at the time, but I was entering transition.

By the grace of the labor and delivery gods, though, the anesthesiologist was actually on her way to my room when the nurse went to find her. The nurse came in and said, “Good news! We’re gonna get your epidural going now!” And that was indeed great news, but now I faced the seemingly impossible task of sitting up on the edge of the bed and staying still enough through a contraction to actually have it done.

The nurse and the anesthesiologist were great, though. I was so out of it at this point that I don’t think I ever opened my eyes. I could hear everyone’s voices, but I had my eyes clenched shut, taking directions as best I could. The nurse sat me up and remarked, “Ooooh, girl, you got that labor hair going!”

I began the day with a braided top knot that quickly dissolved into a tornado-stricken bird’s nest from all my rolling around in bed while breathing through contractions. I get it now. I get why women do the french braids.

The nurse held me in a sort of hug while the anesthesiologist talked me through what she was doing. Do not ask me where Matt was at this stage in the game, for all I know he was in another universe (but he assures me he was right beside me). It was all I could do to remain upright as we waited for a contraction to pass.

When the anesthesiologist (omg, typing anesthesiologist this many times is tiring, her name was Pat, we’re gonna call her Pat from here on) when Pat was done placing the epidural, they swung me back around and laid me down just in time for another big contraction.

My epidural was not instant. I felt every second of this contraction. I felt it from my throat to my pinky toes, like it was getting one last really good dig in, and it was the worst pain of my entire life.

Slowly, the epidural began to take effect and everything from my belly button down became numb. Wait, did I say everything? What I meant to say was everything on the left side of my body became numb. My right side still had feeling.

Pat told me that it might take a few minutes to even out, so as the next contraction came I had this surreal experience of feeling excruciating pain on just one half of my body. Then another contraction, and another, and still, my right side was fully aware of every wave of pain.

I told Pat and the nurse, and they seemed a little perplexed. Pat gave me a booster of meds in my epidural right as the doctor came in to check on me. He too assured me that it would even out soon. He checked my cervix and I was at 9cm. I was in transition and half of my body could feel it.

This was not the plan.

The nurse helped me roll over on my right side in the hopes that the epidural would take effect if I was in a different position. Two or three more contractions came, and still nothing. I was still crying, still panting in terror, it somehow hurt twice as bad on just half my body.

Finally, the nurse said, “I’m gonna cath you and empty your bladder. Didn’t you say you had to pee before you got the epidural?” As soon as she placed the catheter and my bladder emptied, the right side of my body went completely numb in mere seconds.

So heads up pregnant people, make sure you pee before you get your epidural! She helped prop a peanut ball between my legs and rolled me onto my left side. I was fast asleep about 20 seconds later.

My COVID birth story | BabyRabies.com

Trying desperately to get the epidural to work in the right side of my body.

I slept for two hours, but it could have been two days or two minutes. This is where I had to go back and look at Matt’s text message history with our family to get a timeline of events.

At 8pm the shift had changed, and a new nurse came to check on me and hang yet another bag of antibiotics (I was getting a new course every four hours). She lifted my blanket and said, “Oh, I think your water broke! Let’s check ya!” I must say, I much prefer cervical checks when I can’t feel them.

I was fully effaced and dilated. I was so excited to hear that, of course, but part of me really, really wanted to go back to sleep. Just five more minutes, please. Soon there were three nurses, a table full of equipment, and the stirrups came out. I was hoisted into a semi upright position and the nurse told me that she had called the doctor. He said to start doing some “practice pushes”, he’d be there shortly.

Any hopes I had had for a “walking epidural”, the kind where you  still have some sensation, went out the window.

When Pat gave me that booster to try to help my right side, it just made me extra, extra numb all over. It’s really odd watching people lift your legs and move your hips and grab your feet and not feel it.

Time To Push

Anyway, the nurses directed Matt to stand on my right side and showed him how to help me hold my leg, and we were ready to start “practice pushes”. I don’t know if it was the position I was in, or if I was cutting off some major artery by leaning forward, but before I ever started pushing I began to feel faint. A wave of nausea hit me, then a hot flash, I started sweating, and the tunnel vision set in.

I told the nurses I was going to pass out.

I have fainted several times in my life, each time totally out of the blue and for no real reason, like while standing in line to order seafood, for example, or while waiting at a car dealership. I knew this feeling all to well. I was going to faint. They brought some cold rags, and leaned me all the way back. Mind you, I hadn’t even gotten to the pushing part yet.

I slowly recovered and asked to sit back up, then felt faint again. This happened a few more times until we found a happy compromise between sitting up and laying down that let me maintain my blood pressure. That’s when my doctor arrived. He was all smiles.

We exchanged pleasantries, as ya do before someone starts massaging your perineum, and I began pushing around 8:30pm.

My COVID birth story | BabyRabies.com

Finally getting relief after the epidural started taking effect.

Pushing with an epidural is difficult, and I knew that going in.

The nurses were great coaches, and Matt was very quiet but supportive, letting me know each time a contraction was coming. I think I got the hang of it after the first three or four pushes, but I could be wrong. I pushed for half an hour, and my contractions slowed down a bit.

Scary Stuff Started Happening

Between contractions my blood pressure was dropping, I was dizzy and faint, and the doctor and nurses had to remind me to take deep breaths. I was breathing so shallowly that the baby’s heart rate was also dropping.

It got to the point where I actually felt much better while I was pushing, because it was the only way I could keep my blood pressure up. As soon as the contraction ended, I got dizzy and my respiration became slow and shallow. I felt like I was slipping in and out of consciousness at that point.

Another hour passed of pushing like this. I kept asking if I was doing it right, was the baby coming down? They assured me I was making progress… at first. Matt could see about a quarter sized spot of the baby’s head eventually, and there was a lot of hair! Hearing that invigorated me. I wanted to meet this baby with tons of hair already!

I kept pushing, but my blood pressure and the baby’s heart rate kept dipping between contractions. Then came a break between contractions where I remember the nurse sort of shaking my shoulder and saying sternly, “Kelly, you have to take a deep breath. Take a deep breath, Kelly. You have to breathe, the baby needs more oxygen.”

I felt like she had woken me up out of deep sleep when I came to. I looked down and caught the doctor exchanging a somber glance with the nurses. He leaned over and said something to one of them quietly and she left the room. I’m pretty sure at that moment he had sent her to see if the OR was ready, but he never said anything to Matt or me about it.

He did, however,  want to check the position of the baby, and after a few moments of watching him go wrist deep into my vagina without feeling any of what he was doing, he sighed, “Ahh… the baby is in an odd position. It’s sunny side up.”

I asked if that was okay, and he said yes but it would take a little extra work on my part to get its head to come down in the right position. He said if the baby would come down a bit, he could at least get the vacuum on and be able to help it rotate to an easier position, but as it was the baby was too high to use the vacuum.

I was the first one to bring it up – “If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to do a C-section?”

Listen, if this seems long, it is because this was the longest day of my life. So click here to read part 2 of my COVID birth story. 

June 24, 2020 5 comments
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Let’s Hear It For The Nurses
Birth Stories

Let’s Hear It For The Nurses

by Désirée May 13, 2018
written by Désirée

We first posted this photos on the Baby Rabies Facebook page in September 2017 and it struck a chord with our audience in a big way.

Today, in honor of nurses everywhere, and the fact that last week was National Nurses Week, I wanted to highlight some of the comments our readers shared on this post.

I'll never forget the faces of the nurses who followed me into the bathroom after delivering each baby. That moment when…

Posted by Jill Krause on Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

May 13, 2018 0 comment
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If You’re A Birth Story Junkie, You’re Going To Be Obsessed With This
BabiesBirth StoriesPostpartum Anxiety & DepressionPregnancy

If You’re A Birth Story Junkie, You’re Going To Be Obsessed With This

by Jill August 25, 2017
written by Jill

When I was pregnant with my first baby, I couldn’t get enough birth stories. I stayed up all night, sitting in front of my computer, scrolling message boards and blogs and reading any and all birth stories I could find.

A lot has changed since those old timey days. We have smart phones for staying up late, scrolling the internet. And podcasts aplenty, so we can pour the wonder of collective online voices straight into our ears. The future is now. I like it.

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August 25, 2017 10 comments
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Don’t Feel Supported By Your OBGYN Or Midwife? Leave
BabiesBirth StoriesPregnancy

Don’t Feel Supported By Your OBGYN Or Midwife? Leave

by Jill February 23, 2017
written by Jill

My very first OBGYN’s office was lined with framed magazine pages and plaques. The Best Of The Best! Top 10 Best OBGYNs! Another Important Award! I can’t remember exactly how I chose this office, but I do remember feeling really proud of (smug about) that choice when I saw all these accolades at my first visit.

When I was 20 weeks pregnant, I sat in the award-winning OBGYNs office, and I said to the “accomplished” male doctor who appeared to be in his 60s, “I’ve been thinking about trying for a med-free birth. Do you know where I should start as far as books to read or classes to take?”

He shrugged his shoulders, swatted his hand in the air like I was a fly, and said, “You know who gives birth without meds? Cows. We’ve come a long way from having to give birth like a cow. You don’t want to give birth like a cow.” 

And that was the exact moment in my head that I told myself, “WELP. No way this asshole is getting anywhere near my vagina again.” 

Shortly after, I found a local Bradley Method class, and the instructors told me about a lovely midwife practice in the neighboring suburb. They delivered in a hospital! I had no idea midwives did such a thing.

And so, halfway through my first pregnancy, I left a practice that I knew wouldn’t support me in labor the way I wanted them to. I’m really glad that doctor was so blatant about his disinterest in helping me through a med-free birthing experience. That would have been an awful thing to discover at 5 cm dilated.

I went on to have the best birth experience for me– a med-free birth in a hospital with a midwife.

That wasn’t the only time I’d have to leave a practice mid-pregnancy. Not even close.

We moved to Texas shortly after our first was born, and when I got pregnant again, I specifically sought out a practice that offered midwives who delivered in a hospital. I found one that came highly recommended. The midwife on staff had amazing reviews. At my first appointment, I learned she had left for a practice in Fort Worth, but the OBGYN who saw me instead assured me that they would be hiring a new midwife soon, and I’d be seeing her regularly by 20 weeks, for sure.

By the time 20 weeks rolled around, there was still no new midwife hired, and they could no longer say for sure they would have one. That, coupled with the many suggestions that I go ahead and plan to induce before Christmas (my due date was 12/24), made me uneasy enough to change practices again.

The good news is this lead me to a really lovely midwife who delivered at a hospital downtown. I saw her for the last half of my 2nd pregnancy, and I wound up with another wonderful med-free birth experience when she delivered my daughter. 

I saw her through nearly all of my 3rd pregnancy, too… until she was let go from the OBGYN practice she worked for because of a situation that, to me, was a clear case of a midwife doing what midwives do- striving to help mothers birth with as few interventions as possible in a safe way- in conflict with an OBGYNs office and hospital system that doesn’t always align with that approach.

I was nearly 35 weeks pregnant and faced with either staying in that practice that clearly did not support midwifery care and possibly wouldn’t support me, or find a new midwife at another practice. As stressful as it was so late in the game, the obvious choice was to leave.

For the 3rd time, the practice I began my pregnancy with did not end up being the one I ended with, but just like the last 2 times, the move was worth it. I had a 3rd med-free hospital birth with my midwife when I delivered Lowell. And then I got to keep that same midwife all the way through my 4th pregnancy, and she delivered Wallace, too! It was pretty nice to make it through an entire pregnancy without having to look for another provider for once.

Don't Feel Supported By Your OBGYN Or Midwife? Leave | BabyRabies.com

Posing with my midwife Jeanean Carter of Adriatica Women’s Health in McKinney, TX 

As I wrote Wallace’s birth story, I thought about how lucky I’ve been to have all the great birth experiences I’ve had. And then I thought, well, was it all luck? No. So much of that was because I advocated for myself, up to the point of leaving 3 practices when I felt they wouldn’t support me the way I needed them to.

Here’s the thing- it’s not ok for your OBGYN to brush off your wish to birth med-free. It’s not cool for a practice to pressure you to schedule an induction for no reason other than “You’ll be home in time for Christmas!” There are a ton of things that birth professionals do that may make you feel uneasy, no matter how many awards they’ve won, and no matter what kind of birth experience you want.

Yeah, advocating for yourself isn’t just for moms who want to birth med-free. I honestly can’t imagine that first OBGYN I saw would have had any kind of bedside manner after a c-section, either. 

If the OB or MW you’re seeing makes you feel uncomfortable, unheard, small, or stupid, I encourage you to think real hard about getting the hell out of that practice- right up to the very end if you need to. Go to the next town if there’s nobody else near you. I’ve driven as far as 45 minutes for my appointments and given birth at hospitals nearly an hour away.

And if all else fails, and you’re stuck, look into at least hiring a doula.

You deserve to feel supported and to respect and connect with, if not love, the person who helps you bring your babies into this world- no matter if they are an OBGYN or a midwife. I want you to have the best birth experience possible. You can’t control how it will happen, but you can surround yourself with great people.

February 23, 2017 5 comments
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I Can Still Do Hard Things- Wallace’s Birth Story Part 2
BabiesBirth StoriesPregnancy

I Can Still Do Hard Things- Wallace’s Birth Story Part 2

by Jill January 7, 2017
written by Jill

Be sure to read Part 1 first!

Scott got to the hospital a little after I got checked into a labor room. I think sometime around 8:30. He was excited to discover a Blues hockey game on TV. We cut cable long ago, and he usually has to listen to the game via a radio app.

Like old birthing pros, we chilled in the room with no sense of urgency. Him watching the game, me giving the yoga ball a half effort. I thought I should at least attempt to move labor along, though I doubted it would do much.

Wallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.com

There was no rushing to set up battery operated candles or fill the room with calming music. We laughed at how mundane the routine had become.

Around 10 I decided to try to get some sleep. I requested extra blankets and reclined in the not super comfortable labor bed. I don’t know that I ever really managed to fall into a deep sleep, but I rested off and on for the next couple hours. By then, my contractions were coming every 5 ish minutes, but only 2 or 3 an hour were uncomfortable until about midnight.

I rejoiced when it was past midnight because I knew that bought us an extra night at the hospital. Kendall, my first, was born at 12:30 in the morning, so we technically got 3 nights at the hospital since the first night didn’t really count, and I was looking forward to the same scenario.

I LOVE our hospital (Baylor Scott White in McKinney, TX for those wondering). It’s like a hotel.  I also have 3 other kids at home, and 3 dogs, and was in no rush at all to get out of there. Call me crazy, but I’ll take a nurse checking on me every 3 hours over 3 kids “checking” on me every 30 minutes.

Scott remarked around this time that we’d “probably have a baby by 5 in the morning” and he wondered if he should drive home before or after the morning rush hour to shower and get the big kids. I laughed in his face. “A whole lot is going to have to happen really fast for us to have a baby by then. That’s not going to happen, so don’t worry about it.”

From about midnight to 1:30 my contractions became more consistent and uncomfortable. I was having to breathe through every one by the time I called the nurse in to come check me again a little before 2. I was hoping this was a sign of a little bit of progress- at least enough to ease my fears about having to start Pitocin when the sun came up.

When she told me I was still at a 4, I felt like all my worst fears were validated. I sat on the bed, crying, convinced that I really couldn’t handle the pain of contractions after my water broke.

I remember a previous midwife telling me that your bag of water cushions things, and makes contractions more manageable, and I’ve always believed in that fully because once my water does break (usually at 8 cm), all hell breaks loose and it really, really fucking hurts. (Though this is always the start of transition for me, too.)

I cried because these contractions didn’t feel like 4 cm contractions. I was doomed.

Meanwhile, Scott the badass dad pro asked the nurse to get the shower ready. If you read my last birth story, you may remember that I labored with Lowell in an AH-MAZING shower with a million lovely shower heads. It’s a heavenly set up. So I agreed to head that way, wiping my tears on my hospital gown as I took it off.

I remember the nurse saying something like, “I have a feeling you’re starting something, not stalling.” Of course, I assumed this was a lie to get me to calm down.

As soon as I sat down, my contractions started coming on super strong and super fast, with only about 30 seconds between them. And I began my first ever campaign for an epidural.

In my mind, I was in for this kind of pain for the next 6 hours, and then they’d inevitably start me on Pitocin, and hell if I was going to go through all that only to wind up with an epidural then. Fuck that. I wanted it it asap. I just wanted to sleep.

This visibly shocked Scott for a minute, and he tried to talk some sense into me. He knew I had to be progressing. And looking back, DUH, but in that moment I was just like, STFU, and tell the damn nurse to get the damn anesthesiologist.

The nurse, also clearly knowing what was actually happening with me, asked if she could check me again. Then I heard her ask the other nurse to call my midwife and tell her to head in. I thought that was dumb and mean because my poor midwife needed sleep and I wasn’t ever going to have my baby anyway.

It had only been 20 minutes since she last checked me, but I figured sure. They could check me, and I’d still be at a 4, and then they could all leave me alone and let me get the epidural.

Good plan! Except I was at an 8.

OH. Turns out it hurts REAL bad to go from a 4 to an 8 in 20 minutes.

My mood improved greatly for a little bit. I was no longer in uncharted waters. It’s like I finally had a map in a language I understood. 8 cm and my water’s broken? This I could do. This I knew. I wasn’t going to like it, but I’d been there.

I didn’t want an epidural anymore, which is good because there wouldn’t have been time anyway. I asked the nurse to fill the labor tub for me and she was like, “Girl, no. I’m sorry. We don’t have time for that.” 

So back into the shower I went, just in time for the holy-shit-why-did-you-do-this-AGAIN contractions. I have no idea what time this was… maybe I was in there from 3 to 3:30 ish? I don’t have a good grasp on time at this point.

My good mood faded, and this marked the beginning of the part of labor that feels like I’m being dragged against my will. Like, if you’re being dragged through a field of thorns, the worst thing you can do is flail and kick and fight (I’d imagine). You just have to relax into it, don’t fight it.

Dumb, lacking analogies aside, this is the part that really sucks. And I knew that. I knew that the only way out was through, and I did everything I could to let my body take over and do what it could. I didn’t like it. I cried. But I knew what I had to do.

After a few really hard contractions, I started to feel a little like pushing. I was suddenly real glad my nurse had the foresight to call my midwife in. They got me out of the shower and moved me to a birth stool. My midwife walked in after one or two contractions there, and after a couple more I knew I was going to need to push soon.

I had the option to stay on the birth stool, but I’ve only ever pushed my babies while sitting in the bed, and I needed that familiarity. I moved to the bed between contractions, and with the very next one the rest of my water broke (the first break was only a small tear), and gushed everywhere.

I dreaded what was coming next, but again, more dragging and giving up control, and just knowing I had to get through it for it to be over. Pushing, for me, is super awful. I can’t recall exactly how awful because that’s how nature tricks us into keeping our species going, but I do know that every time I’ve been there, I’ve made a mental note that it’s the absolute worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life.

The positive to this is that I am a fucking boss at pushing by now. I do. not. fuck. around. I pushed for about 20 minutes with my first, 2 pushes with my 2nd, my 3rd was born with one push.

And just like the last time, I began to push and would not let up until he was out. This one was also born with only one push. I paused briefly after his head crowned and then again to slow down his shoulders – like a damn PRO, not needing anyone to remind me.

I still screamed like someone was ripping me in half from the inside, though.

I remember the nurses kept telling me to look down and meet my baby, but I am the least sentimental person when I’m trying to get a human out of me. I would meet him soon enough. I needed to focus. I needed to close my eyes and get the job done.

And then, there he was, and it was immediate relief. I cried.

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Not just because labor was over, but because the whole dang thing was- the pregnancy, the anxiety about labor. It was all finally behind me. “You did it!” everyone kept cheering. They had no idea how much I doubted that I could.

“I can do hard things,” I thought to myself as I looked down to finally meet my baby.

img_6076

2016 tried to dismantle me, and I’m not talking about all the celebrity deaths. It pushed me and picked at me in a lot of ways I won’t get into here. But with 10 days left, at 4:59 am, 2016 gave me Wallace Austin Krause- 9 lbs 1 oz, 21.5 inches long- and reminded me I can still do hard things. 

Wallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.comWallace's Birth Story | BabyRabies.com

Want to read my other birth stories?

Kendall’s birth story
Leyna’s birth story
Lowell’s birth story

January 7, 2017 5 comments
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Lowell's Birth Story
BabiesBirth StoriesPopular PostsPregnancyThe Story

Lowell’s Birth Story

by Jill August 23, 2013
written by Jill

I’d been pregnant for about… 7ish years. In my head. Technically, I was 40 weeks, 5 days, but in my head? A full seven years.

My body was revolting against me. I had a testicle/cyst growing larger each day (oh, you really should read all about that), and at my 40 week + 4 day appointment, my midwife had to utter the word “induction” to prepare me for the possibility that it might be the only way to stop me from being pregnant for ETERNITY.

(Please do stop yourself if you’re about to comment about how nobody is pregnant forever, babies pick their birth dates, blah blah. Rational arguments were lost on me at that time. That’s what I’m saying.)

The next morning, July 30th at 7:30am, I woke up to a small gush of something down there. My first thought as I shook off the fog in my brain was, “Oh, hell yes. Please let this be it.” Followed very quickly by the following train of thought:

“Oh. Shit. Get off the bed, get off the bed, VERY CAREFULLY GET OFF THE BED. Back your ass out of this thing. Scoot backwards. Don’t roll over. Oh, holy crap. Please don’t be my water breaking, please don’t be my water breaking.”

See, we recently purchased the bed of my dreams. A very expensive bed of my dreams. One made of foam that I imagine is pretty absorbent. One that we did not have any sort of plastic barrier on because my water NEVER breaks on it’s own.

And that’s a good thing, my midwife told me the day before, because I had SO MUCH amniotic fluid this time and the baby was floating so high up in it that IF my water did break, we might have a serious situation on our hands. A situation that would definitely require an immediate drive to the hospital, and possibly an ambulance ride if I felt “anything slipping out down there, like an umbilical cord… or an arm.”

After getting to the bathroom without dropping a water balloon out of my vagina on the way there (or an arm), I determined it was probably my mucus plug I felt, not my water. PHEW. And EW. There was spotting, and then a contraction.

The contraction was nothing to get excited about. I’d been having them for about 6 weeks. But the other signs were making me a little giddy. Scott was working from home that day, so I told him he might need to let his boss know he needed the day off (and the next month- three cheers for a month of vacation days saved up!). After about an hour, I called my midwife’s office. Contractions were pretty irregular and not painful at all. Sometimes I’d go 15 minutes without one. I didn’t expect things to happen anytime soon, but the office wanted me to head to the hospital anyway.

We live 45 minutes from it, and I knew that I was capable of going from 0-60 very fast, based on my 1.5-2 hour labor with Leyna. So we calmly packed up the car and left about an hour and a half after that. Then we stopped to get something to eat. It was all very casual. I’m sure the good people at Panera had no idea I would walk out with a bagel and cream cheese, then push a baby out by the end of the day.

BirthDateLowell

Last bump selfie, just before heading to the hospital. Who’s happy to get this baby out? THIS GIRL.

The contractions were such a joke that by the time we got to the hospital, I was expecting them to just send me home. Nope. I was at a 4/5. (I was barely a 2 the day before.) Problem was the baby was still very high, not at all engaged. I was admitted anyway because everyone was confident I was in active labor, but I was preparing for a long day and night. Scott and I took off for a walk, which seemed to make the contractions stop. When we got back, I was monitored for a bit, then I opted to take a little nap. I was suddenly very tired.

The whole time I rested, I didn’t feel a single contraction. Not for the entire 40 minutes. But my anxiety started to ramp up as I started to feel really hot, and like I couldn’t breathe. I was dizzy. It made me freak out. OMG, did I have a blood clot? WAS I GOING TO DIE? Maybe my testicle-cyst was trying to kill me!

Seriously, the anxiety was a bitch. I begged Scott to get the nurse. I explained to her that I was afraid something was very wrong with me. She asked if I’d felt any contractions. In my head, I was all:

“Contractions? Let’s forget about the labor thing for a minute and focus on how I’m ABOUT TO DIE because CLEARLY something is not right.”

But she insisted on checking me. Hilarity! I hadn’t had contractions in more than an hour.

I was at a 6, almost 7. Baby was definitely engaged, much lower, I was 60% effaced. So a good portion of this labor progressed with the help of a panic attack instead of contractions. Lucky me?

Mostly confident that I was actually NOT dying (at that point), I decided to get in the labor tub. I was suddenly really worried that things were going to go super fast. I texted my birth photographer- Monica of A Sacred Project– and asked her to head on up to the hospital. Then I just… hung out. Just all chill in the warm water, casually kicking back. I felt contractions every 5ish minutes, but they didn’t hurt. I was laughing and talking through them. I was that woman in labor that people probably hate.

Don’t worry. I paid for it later.

Anyway, Monica got there about an hour after I got in the tub, so this is the point in the story where I’ll start to provide her lovely visuals for you all. And by “lovely” I do mean that some are terrifying. (But NONE are of anything below the bump or NSFW.)

IMG_0003

(This post is going to be crazy long, so please click through from my homepage to read the rest and see the slideshow at the end of the post!)

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August 23, 2013 100 comments
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Birth StoriesStuffThe Story

The Rest of The Story, Take 2

by Jill January 12, 2011
written by Jill

I firmly believe one of the least discussed parts of the whole pregnancy, childbirth, becoming a mom experience is the part that follows immediately after that baby exits your womb. The world, with all it’s warm and fuzzy ads and Lifetime movies, would have you believe that once that baby is out, all is perfect with the world. The pain leaves, you heal up, you go about your blissful existence with your newborn… at least until colic sets in.

Not. TRUE.

I was so blindsided by what followed Kendall’s birth that I feel like the days/weeks after I had him were far more traumatizing than the pain of delivering without an epidural. The Pitocin in the thigh, nearly passing out, the catheter, the blood, the stitches, the rash, the mastitis, the chunks of flesh falling off my bleeding nipples… NOBODY WARNED ME ABOUT THAT SHIT.

Now, looking back, and after experiencing things the 2nd time around, I have to think that maybe my experience was a little on the extreme side the 1st time (and I’m so sorry if I scared the living hell out of you). That said, it wasn’t all rosy and baby powder scented diapers of puppies and bunnies this time, either.

Each time I’ve pushed out a baby, my mind has rejoiced momentarily that the “pain is over.” And then, minutes later, I’m reminded it’s not. Sure the pain level has decreased, but it’s not over. First, there was the delivering of the enormous placenta I was carrying around that was, apparently, about the size of my baby.

Then, though I only had a small 1st degree tear this time, I still had to have stitches, meaning I had to endure several shots of local anesthetic to the part of my body I wish to not be touched for the next year. And then? That doesn’t completely numb the area, just dulls it slightly, leaving me still able to feel the sensation of the thread and needle weaving in and out of my delicate and already battered nether regions.

On the bright side, I didn’t bleed nearly as much after having Leyna as I did Kendall. There was no need for the shot of Pitocin to the thigh, and I didn’t pass out on my way to the toilet, either. I did, however, leave a lovely, murderous looking trail from the bed to the bathroom, which I nearly slipped on.

Oh, a side note, the poop I left in the toilet while in labor (have you read my birth story yet?), was still there after I had Leyna and I saw Scott silently slink over to the bathroom and flush it. I think it was really bothering him that it was still sitting there, in all it’s nasty germiness. What a gentleman.

I was really nervous about my first pee. I sat on the toilet, again in front of the whole room, and wished with all my might that I would pee. Y’all, that catheter I had to have after Kendall was the WORST part about childbirth last time. I was more afraid of that than pushing. And as the urine started to trickle out, I shouted from my throne to every soul in the room, “I’M PEEING!! YES!! I’M PEEING!” I was met by many congratulations and my nurse even made a call up to my recovery nurse to share the good news. I don’t think anyone was looking forward to the catheter possibility.

By the time I got to my room to recover, I was, honestly, feeling pretty good. In fact, Scott and I sat there and looked at each other like, “that was way too easy.”

And then… the cramps started.

Cramps as painful as the most painful menstrual cramps that once sent me to the ER and many times sent me home early from work. Maybe worse. Definitely worse than the cramps I experienced last time as I breastfed Kendall (they come when you’re breastfeeding because it makes your uterus contract… so I’m told).  Cramps so bad I hunched over and cried many times, all while trying to perfect my newborn’s latch.

The good news is I was was given a lovely cocktail of narcotics to dull the pain, which I dutifully took each time I was up for another dose. This girl may push babies out with no pain meds, but I sure as hell want them after I deliver.

We came home 24 hours after having Leyna, and I was all kinds of hormonal and crazy by then. As we pulled up to the house, I saw the neighbor kids running amok across our yard. I could see them peering into the Jeep. I KNEW they were going to pounce on us and ask to see the baby the minute we opened the doors.

“Your mission is to keep those punk-ass kids AWAY from me and AWAY from my baby. I’m not kidding, Scott. I’m going to kick them in the teeth. Do NOT let them near me. Do NOT let them talk to me, and so help me, DO NOT LET THEM TOUCH MY BABY.”

I think it took a good week for my hormones to level off.

In the meantime, just as I thought breastfeeding was going really well this time around (minus the standard nipple pain that comes from a Hoover attached to tender breasts for 20 out of 24 hours suddenly), Leyna suddenly decided to absolutely refuse to latch on my bitch-ass, giant, malformed left nipple. Tears fell from my eyes and landed on her sweet little head as I struggled for up to 30 minutes to just get her to latch. Just PLEASE LATCH. Oh God, I did NOT want to have latch issues. We battled for 48 hours and I’m happy to report I WON. I mean, the conditions do have to be just so. She has to be positioned just right. The boob can’t be too full or too empty. I have to squeeze it and start it for her. She doesn’t want to work for it at all, but I finally got her to latch and we’ve been good to go ever since.

The upside to all of this is my nipples look nothing like they did with Kendall this far out. No scabs. No blood. No chunks of flesh falling off. Okay, so she’s picky, but at least she’s kind. So breastfeeding is definitely a win this time around.

And then the rash returned. Oh yes, remember my lovely crotch rot? Just a few days out of the hospital and it erupted all over my butt, thighs and everything in between. AGAIN.

Confession- Like an IDIOT, I didn’t stock up on pads before I went into labor. I came home with the hospital pads, and they ran out sooner than I expected… in the middle of the night. What did I have left? Oh, only the ALWAYS PADS OF EVIL AND DOOM from my last postpartum experience that gave me contact dermatitis. But I didn’t think it would be that  big of a deal. I would only need to wear one for a few hours before we could get out to the store.

Flash forward to the end of the day, and I’ve got another raging, itching, burning, red, bumpy rash all over the parts I wish not to be touched. My name is Jill, and I’m a dumbass.

Or am I… because shortly after, after I quickly switched to Kotex pads, continuing for many, many days after that, I began to see this rash spread up my stomach, inside my stretch marks, and down my legs, behind my knees and even on my calves. Last time it didn’t spread, that I can remember. Contact dermatitis is just supposed to erupt where the skin actually comes in contact with the irritant. Those pads may have been big, but they certainly didn’t touch my knees.

I consulted Dr. Twitter and Dr. Google (since it was a weekend and I couldn’t consult my midwife until Monday), and the diagnosis ranged anywhere from PUPPPS to an allergy to my husband’s DNA in the placenta and amniotic fluid. <<< No, really. That was a for real issue.

I never found out what caused the rash this time around. My midwife called in a steroid pack for me that Monday after I delivered and it seemed to clear up about 95% of the rash within a few days. Next time, I’m just going to assume this is going to happen to me and be on the lookout.

It’s 2 weeks out now, and I *think* the worst has passed. All in all, it hasn’t been that bad this time around, at least when I compare it to recovery with Kendall. I was up walking around much faster this time, the weight seems to be coming off faster this time, breastfeeding is 80% less painful.

So doesn’t that give you all hope?! Hopefully, it at least doesn’t scare you nearly as much as my 1st Rest of The Story did.

Kendall is 2 1/3 and Leyna is 2 weeks.

January 12, 2011 43 comments
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Birth StoriesPopular PostsThe Story

Leyna’s Birth Story

by Jill January 5, 2011
written by Jill

It’s hard to know where to start with this one. I mean, with Kendall I knew the moment I went into real labor. I lost my mucous plug, had a contraction shortly after and had a baby in my arms about 21 hours after that.

This time, however, there were a lot of false starts. I had my first round of false labor two weeks before Leyna was born. I began experiencing contractions a few hours after my 39 week appointment, and they lasted throughout the evening only to subside after taking Tylenol PM and going to sleep. I knew those contractions weren’t the real thing because they were too short (30-40 seconds) and coming every 2-3 minutes. They also didn’t radiate all the way around my abdomen, even though I still wouldn’t call them painless. That’s the night my mom decided to drive up… just in case, thus insuring that I actually wouldn’t have a baby for a very, very long time.

The following Tuesday I was still pregnant, but at my 40 wk appt. that morning the midwife determined I was 4 cm dilated and 80% effaced (a big change from the 2 cm and thick cervix the week before). I left that day feeling confident I would have a new baby by Christmas. So confident, in fact, I finally allowed my mom to buy the baby a Christmas outfit… thus solidly sealing my fate that I would not, actually, have a baby by Christmas.

In the wee hours of Christmas morning, one day after my due date, I began having strong, steady, real contractions. I laid in bed and told myself if they were any worse in an hour, I’d wake everyone up and we’d do the Santa thing with Kendall in the middle of the night (because he totally *got* it this year and would be super disappointed to wake and discover not only were mommy and daddy gone, but that bastard Santa skipped his house, too).  I had 5 contractions, 7 minutes apart… then nothing. I drifted back to sleep and we enjoyed our last Christmas as a family of three. It was, to tell the truth, quite perfect. I’m glad she chickened out and decided to keep baking through the holiday.

Following Christmas, I decided it was time to get serious and instated “Shop Until I Pop.” We walked the mall, the outlet mall, Target, any place I could think to spend money on random bits and pieces while simultaneously getting a workout that I was hoping would lead to labor. All that amounted from that was a few random bits of clothing, new shoes for Kendall and a dwindling bank account… but still no baby.

My 41 week appointment was the morning of the 28th. I prepared myself to go in there and learn that I was STILL at 4 cm and 80% effaced. I was ready to hear I’d be one of those poor women who walks around at a 4 for 3 weeks only to be induced. In fact, I was actually thinking maybe it was possible I would be closing up by that point. Maybe I’d be only 2 cm again. Maybe the baby was retreating back into my womb. Maybe she heard me go a little crazy over Christmas with all the chaos and stress and decided she’d actually much prefer to stay inside where Psycho Mommy Of Doom couldn’t touch her.

“I don’t even know how you’re still pregnant,” my midwife said to me after an internal exam revealed I was indeed more than 4 cm dilated. I was sitting at a solid 7, pretty much completely effaced.

Mind. Blown.

I had to work SO HARD to get to 7 cm with Kendall. Like, I had a good 19 hours of REAL labor behind me before I got to 7 with Kendall. And then? He was born about an hour after that. So, yeah… internal freaking out commenced. How was I still pregnant?? And more importantly, how much longer could I stay that way??

Pretty much the only thing keeping a baby from shooting out of my vagina at that point was my water bag of STEEL. Once that popped, my midwife warned me things would probably go really, really fast. We live 3o minutes from the hospital, and that’s without traffic.

So when my midwife suggested she strip my membranes to get contractions going, have me go home and get my things and then meet me at the hospital shortly after to break my water, I nearly jumped off the exam table to kiss her. YES! Let’s do this! Because, uhm, I sure as hell am not doing this on the side of the road… or in my car… or in my bedroom… or any place in between.

The contractions that started after she stripped my membranes (for those of you wondering just what the hell that entails, it’s like she crammed her finger all the way up my cervix and ran it between my bag of water and my uterus, and it was as delightful and comfortable as it sounds) were just like the contractions I’d felt the last two Tuesdays after my internal exams, but maybe a tad more regular, a little stronger, maybe a smidge longer. But still, nothing like “real” contractions. I never had to breathe through any of them. I just went about my business, drove home, told Scott to take the rest of the day off work and started leisurely packing for the hospital. We left about an hour later, calmly drove to the hospital.

I’ll say that on the way to the hospital I was mentally preparing myself for what was to come because, for as easy as it was to get to a 7, I was certain I was going to have to work really hard for the last 3 cm. And as much as I wanted to believe it would go fast, I knew there were no guarantees. Scott and I sort of gave each other mini pep talks on the way there. “You can do this, you’ve done this before, DON’T think about how long it’s going to take,” he said.

We checked in at 12:25. The whole experience was pretty surreal. I felt like I was showing up for a scheduled birth. When I arrived at the desk and stated we were there to “have a baby,” the nurse looked at me like, “riiiiighhhht… this is going to take all night.” I was still chatty and 90% comfortable through my contractions the whole 20 minutes they had me on the monitors in the room while Scott worked on blowing up my labor tub and filling it with water.

I went into it thinking a water birth was a possibility, but I didn’t have my heart set on one. Mainly, I just wanted the water to help manage the pain of the contractions since it seemed to work so well with Kendall. My midwife mentioned she would feel more comfortable delivering the baby if I was out of the water so she could see if the baby’s cord was wrapped around her neck, and I told her I wanted to do what she felt was safest. Since I didn’t have any big water birth plans, I told her I’d be fine with getting out of the tub to push, but followed it with the disclaimer that I couldn’t promise I would be happy and that I wouldn’t be dropping f-bombs when the time came. She seemed okay with that compromise.

I believe my midwife broke my water and released the Niagara Falls of amniotic fluid around 1:15. Like, seriously, WHOA. That was a LOT of water. If that had popped in a public place, I think I might have caused a mini tsunami. Clean up on aisle 8 would have required a lot more than a mop and a stock boy.

They monitored me for a few more minutes and then released me to head to the labor tub. I made a pit stop at the potty to pee since the minute my water broke the baby slid down my birth canal and planted herself firmly on my bladder. I peed, and peed, and then I couldn’t tell when I stopped peeing and just sat there for a few minutes wondering if what was coming out of me was still pee or amniotic fluid. I figured I’d probably broken the record for world’s longest pee at that point and should just go ahead and leak my way over to the labor tub. I remember looking up at the clock as I settled in. It was 1:30.

I spent about 10 minutes just chillin in my warm tub of water, chatting it up with my nurse, midwife and Scott. It was quite leisurely. The contractions were getting stronger, and I had to breathe through them, but at the beginning it really wasn’t bad. That all started to change really quickly, though.

Soon enough, the contractions got angry. It scared me a little how fast that happened. I could feel them in my legs, like on the top of my quads, which made the laid back position I’d taken in the tub not so comfy since I couldn’t stretch out completely. As each contraction approached, I cued everyone in the room in and we all got silent. Scott grabbed a bucket of ice and made some ice water to pat on my forehead with a wash cloth.  The water in the tub seemed to increase in temperature with each contraction. Soon I was needing to change positions.. but I was scared! I knew I wasn’t loving the position I was in, but what if I moved and found out that position was worse? I glanced at the clock again. It was 2:00.

And while all this was happening, the back and forth in my mind, the increasingly awful contractions, I began to question myself.

“You’re beginning to remember what it was really like, huh?” my midwife remarked.

Hell yeah, I was. Holy shit. I thought I remembered the pain, y’all. I actually feared I remembered it too much prior to going into labor, but THIS was not what I remembered… at least not until I was in the thick of it. THEN I *really* remembered. THEN those sensations that I buried deep within my cerebral cortex came back to me.

And it really scared me. And I asked Scott why I did this again. Why would I ever put myself through this again? Why would he let me? Asshole.

I didn’t think I could handle it, which was exactly how I felt during transition last time, but I had only been in active labor for 45 minutes at that point (active being when the contractions started to ramp up and get painful after my water was broken). This was way too soon to be in trasition already. Transition meant I would be pushing soon, and there was no way I’d be ready to push soon.

And so the mind fuck between the two sides in my head began.

“You can’t do this. It’s too much this time. You’re not even in transition. JUST WAIT until transition. Oh, you are so fucked. You should have done your relaxation exercises.. and your kegels.. and your pelvic rocks!”

“Shut the fuck up. You are FINE. You know why? Because THIS IS transition. Why? Because you think you can’t do it.”

“No. You just really CAN’T do it this time. This isn’t transition. You’ve only been in labor for 45 minute. How on earth could THIS already be transition. And remember pushing? Pushing is going to suck SO hard. SO. HARD.”

“OMG, you’re so right. I forgot about pushing. I DON’T WANT TO PUSH.”

While all this was going on, my midwife suggested I get up and lean over the side of the tub. I hesitated, but knew something had to change, and the only thing that *could* change was my position. I hung my head over the side of the tub and inhaled the fumes of the plastic while my face stuck to it. It started to make me sick… and I was increasingly warm. I knew I wouldn’t last like this long.

I began to feel a lot of pressure down low, but, to be honest, I really thought I was about to poop. I hadn’t had a chance to clean my system out that day. With Kendall, I got all that out of my system before we went to the hospital, but since I didn’t really experience labor up until my water breaking I knew I had plenty in there to dispel still. So… it was looking like we were going to need to use that fishnet we brought. Glorious.

At that moment, like my midwife was reading my mind, or I don’t know… maybe I farted? Maybe she smelled it? Maybe she saw bubbles? She gently suggested maybe, if I was feeling like the tub was too hot, I go ahead and get out and get on the bed, but first, why don’t I go sit on the toilet to see if I need to poop at all. I was, honestly, so relieved she suggested it so I didn’t have to announce to the whole room, “Hey, I think I might take a giant shit here in this tub. Someone please fetch the fish net.”

And so, because I was at the point in labor where one has completely lost every shred of modesty and dignity, I grabbed my husband’s arm and had him escort me to the toilet. For a split second I thought, perhaps, they would close the door and let me do my thing in private. Of course, I was wrong. So there I sat on the toilet, midwife, nurse and husband sitting around me, and I pooped. A big poop. I’m pretty sure it was a smelly poop.

I, the girl who rarely ever even farts in front of her husband (and this actually caused me much anxiety during my first pregnancy), took a giant shit on the toilet while the love of her life held her hand and looked on… and then he offered to wipe for me. Which I guess is a really loving gesture, but totally not one I was willing to take him up on. So, I guess I still had a teensy, tiny, Easter-grass-sized shred of dignity left.

And then something happened after I took this giant, smelly shit in the toilet… which still floated in there, yet to be flushed.

I felt the uncontrollable, unstoppable urge to push. And so I did. I pushed while sitting on top of the toilet filled with poop, like “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” style, like “I Delivered My Baby At Prom” style. And for a brief moment I looked over at my germaphobe husband and could see a look of terror flash through his eyes. OMG, was I about to have this baby in a toilet bowl full of shit?!

As soon as that horrific contraction passed, my nurse and midwife moved swiftly to move me to the bed. “Let’s have this baby!” they exclaimed.

Huh? What? Really? Already? I’M NOT READY TO PUSH!

But clearly, I was. I had no control over it. So I knew I had to move fast, lest I actually do have my baby in a toilet full of shit.

And so, at what I can best estimate was around 2:25-2:30, I got up on to the bed (not fully reclined on my back, more in a sitting up, reverse squat position). And I actually managed to not push for one mini contraction. I breathed through it and told everyone I wasn’t ready yet. I knew the pain was far from over, and I was scared.

But I gave myself a mini pep talk in my head. The only way out of this was through this. The only way to make the pain stop was to give in to the pain and get it over with. It was time to get down to business. It was time to have a baby.

As I felt the next contraction approach, I let everyone know I was ready. It took over me, I made scary noises, guttural noises, noises that didn’t even sound like they were coming from me. I pushed. And I pushed. And I pushed. And HOLYFUCKINGSHIT it hurt. According to my pep-squad, I was doing really well. They promised me she was “right there.”

I don’t know if I just don’t remember very clearly, but I want to say that pushing this time around was much more intense. MUCH more painful. I wanted to die, more than I wanted to while in transition. I pushed for 20 minutes with Kendall. I knew I wouldn’t last that long this time around. There was no way. This baby had to come out. NOW.

The next contraction was the longest I’ve ever experienced. Maybe not if clocked in actual real time. Maybe it was only a minute on a stop watch. But in my space-time continuom, at that moment, it lasted an hour. And I pushed the entire time. And the dialogue in my head went something like this:

“OMG,OMG,OMG YOU. ARE. GOING. TO. DIE. What is that sensation? I think you are ripping completely in half. I think your clitoris is about to pop off. You are going to have ONE HOLE down there when this is all over. GET IT OUT. GET IT OUT. GET IT OUT. BREATHE. BREATHE. BREATHE. Ring of fire. Ring of fire. RING OF FIRE IS LASTING FOREVER. GET IT OUT OF THE RING OF FIRE!!”

With one final mini push of that big, long, worst minute of my life contraction, her head came out. I was completely oblivious at the time, but apparently her cord was wound around her neck and she was blue. Scott said the midwife was quick as a flash and had it off of her in seconds. Then she told me I needed to push the shoulders out.

I STILL HAVE TO PUSH OUT MORE?! Is what my face was saying. Although my actual voice was just saying, “UGHHNNNGHHHRAWWWRRR”… I think.

I still felt like I had a mountain to climb. I was so lost in the moment that I didn’t realize once I pushed those shoulders out, I was done. I would have a baby. This would be over. I just braced myself and gave it all I had.

And just like that, she was here. My nurse told me to open my eyes, and at that moment they plopped her on my chest. Yes, all slimy and covered in goo. I didn’t care. She was out. She was… perfect, and we named her Leyna Lorelei Krause.

I recall thinking she was so squishy. I couldn’t see her face very well at first, but her body was ripe with chubby rolls. NO wonder it felt like giving birth to a jack-o-lantern. She was quite the round pumpkin. I barked at Scott to get the camera.

And suddenly it was all worth it. She was alert, she was healthy, the pain had passed (well, relatively speaking), and I knew I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way (except maybe I’d leave out the pooping in front of everyone part if I could do it all over). Time of birth- 2:38, about 2 hours after we checked into the hospital. About 1.5 hours after my midwife broke my water and my “active” labor started. It was a super intense, really painful 1.5 hours, but I’ll take it!

The damage? Oh, I was so convinced they were going to need to take me in for surgery to repair the carnage down there. Wouldn’t you know, though, that 9 lb 9 oz little girl, who I thought ripped me in half, only gave me one tiny 1st degree tear. According to my midwife, my pushes were “very controlled,” which is odd because I felt anything but controlled in the moment, but go body for knowing what to do, I guess.

Early on in this pregnancy, I worried quite a bit about where I should deliver and who I should deliver with. I was apprehensive about delivering at a hospital, but knew a birth center or home birth just wasn’t the right choice for me. I did my best to find a midwife who I felt would work with me to achieve a healthy, med-free birth (leaving the OB I started with at 20 weeks), and I wound up delivering at Baylor, Dallas. Let me tell you all, I could not be happier. I thought my hospital/midwife experience with Kendall was so great that surely I wouldn’t be so lucky to replicate it. I was wrong. I think my experience with my midwife and delivering at Baylor was actually even better.

I felt so supported 100% of the way. Not a single nurse balked at my med-free plan, never the word epidural was mentioned. The breastfeeding support after having Leyna was phenomenal. I was visited by 3 lactation consultants in a 24 hour period… just to see how things were going. It really renewed some of my faith in the system. You CAN have a healthy, med-free birth in a hospital, but you really have to do your research and work hard to find a provider and a hospital that you are 120% confident will support you. And you need to prepare. You have to educate yourself.

Despite how much I thought I’d want to stay in the hospital forever and ever before returning to the chaos of real life with a toddler, we left after only 24 hours. Why? Well, for one, I couldn’t get a damn wink of sleep there. And? I missed my little boy. A lot.

You might think this is the end of the story, but just like last time, there’s a lot left to tell still. Stay tuned for “the rest of the story, take 2.”

Kendall is 2 and 2/3 and Leyna is 7 days old

January 5, 2011 82 comments
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Birth StoriesThe Story

The *rest* of the story

by Jill May 17, 2008
written by Jill

As bad as labor and delivery hurt, I felt prepared for the pain. I had spent months teaching myself how to cope with it with various techniques. I was mentally prepared for what was going to happen to my body leading up to Kendall’s grand exit. And it was pain with a purpose and a wonderful reward. However, I foolishly neglected to prepare myself for the pain of postpartum recovery. It’s not anything I heard anyone really explain in detail prior to having him.

Yes, I knew there would probably be tearing. Yes, I knew I would be sore, but I didn’t KNOW to what extent. I just figured that everything would pale in comparison to the pain of L&D and that I would be up and bouncy and fine in no time. Imagine my surprise when immediately after delivering Kendall I find myself freaking out as I see the world’s largest needle headed straight toward my already battered and bruised vagina to numb me up for the stitches! It was like I went from being the “I just kicked med-free birth in the ass because I’m rock star bad ass” to a “You’re going to stick that where? No! I’m such a wuss!” In a matter of minutes.

So I type this, the *rest* of the story, NOT to scare you (which I’m afraid is what I did with my birth story for so many of you) but to INFORM you. I think it’s important to know what you’re getting into. I also think it’s important to blog this as it’s fresh in my mind so that when I start to suffer from mom-nesia, I can look back and read carefully before deciding to put myself through this again (not that it hasn’t been worth it the first time around). Please keep in mind that I by no means am saying you are going to have the same experience. I don’t know what my pain tolerance is in comparison to yours, and I DID have a big baby. I’m sure that has something to do with it.

Okay, so let’s revisit that needle thing. I had just handed Kendall off to go get weighed, measured, etc. when I look down to discover my midwife coming at me with what looks like a needle big enough to euthanize a cow. Typically, I’m not afraid of needles, but let’s just say I was a little jumpy about ANYTHING touching me down there, especially a needle of that enormity.

I have no idea to what degree I tore or how many stitches I needed. I mean, really…why do I need to know that? All I know is it took them a good thirty minutes to put things back in place, and while I couldn’t feel the needle pierce me, I could feel the sensation of the thread/string/whatever it is they use to stitch you up being pulled through….ick…I totally shudder just thinking about it.

As gross as that was, what scared me the most was hearing my midwife say to the nurse, “Yeah…we’ll have to take our time with the right labia”. O….M….G. She must have done a good job, though, because every nurse who came in as I laid there spread eagle commented on how good things looked down there. I also got several compliments from the recovery team. I’m so glad everyone got so up close and personal with me.

Then there was the second big ass needle that came at me in the middle of being stitched up. This one was for the Pitocin. I guess my uterus wasn’t contracting enough on it’s own and I was starting to loose a lot of blood. They tried the uterus “massage” a few times, which is such a misleading term. Massage would, to me, imply something gentle, soothing even. Not this one. This should be more appropriately termed the uterus “smack down”. Two nurses took turns kneading my lower abdomen like a lump of bread dough. There was nothing gentle about it. When that didn’t produce the results they were looking for, I got jabbed in the thigh with the Pitocin. I have to give my husband some more credit here because as all this was going on, he left Kendall (only feet away) to come and hold my hand. We both had him in clear sight, and in fact he was what I looked at to keep my focus off the pain, but it helped tremendously to have Scott there to inflict just a little of my misery on via hand squeeze.

About an hour after birth, the room started to clear out. I was informed it was now time for me to get up and head to the bathroom. This was a terrifying challenge. My fabulous nurse Karen assisted me into the room with the magic tub that had once brought me such comfort. She sits me on the toilet and asks if I have to pee. Uhmmm…no. Nothing is coming out of me down there for a long time. She then informs me I have 6 hours to make myself urinate or I will have to get a catheter and says, “You girls who go without any meds…I don’t want to be the one to put a catheter in ya… it’s not pretty. So you gotta drink lots of fluids, okay?” Okay. Will do. And I drink probably two bottles of Gatorade in the next six hours, along with a bottle of water.

Then nurse Karen pulls out a giant bag full of all sorts of lovely medical supplies. She begins to make a super pad concoction for me. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten in 9 hours, or the $5 Subway Footlong jingle that’s stuck in my head, but I can’t help but think how much this pad and all it’s “fixins” resembles a sub sandwich. It’s a footlong pad, topped with a cold pack, lined with round witch hazel “pepperoni” pads, and “dressed” with a good coating of Dermaplast. I will forever think of them now as Heiney Hoagies, and I will think of them fondly. The combo of the cold pack mixed with the witch hazel pads is heavenly, despite the fact that you are waddling around with a footlong sub stuffed between your legs.

At this time I was also introduced to the wonderful Peri Bottle. It’s merely a squeeze bottle that you fill with warm water, but it will become your best friend. Not only does it help clean you up down there without having to subject yourself to harsh and scratchy TP, but that warm stream also provides a lot of relief, especially when you pee on your stitches (ouch!).

Now, I must interject a PSA at this point because, as I type this, I am dealing with the fallout from too much Peri Bottle and not enough TP. Here’s the thing – as much as you don’t want ANYTHING touching you down there for a long time, please suck it up and make sure you pat yourself dry every time before slipping on your lovely Heiney Hoagie. I have spent the last two weeks in pads and made the mistake of rarely using TP to pat things dry. I just washed off with the bottle and pulled up my mesh panties (another fabulous medical invention). I now sit here with what can only be called an adult diaper rash. It’s terribly itchy and the only thing I can do is air myself out, spray Dermaplast all over it, and smear Kendall’s diaper rash cream on. Yes, I know that if I would have given it just a little bit of thought it would seem common sense that sitting in a moist pad for two weeks would lead to this, but I’m telling you you aren’t thinking that far in advance when all you can focus on is how bad the stitches hurt.

So that leads me to the stitches…. ow, ow, owie, ow, OUCH! First lesson to pound into your mind – do NOT try to cross your legs! I made this mistake when we were taking our family pic together before leaving the hospital. It was second nature to me to sit that way, and as soon as I did I regretted it.

Second lesson – do NOT look down! The day after delivery I dropped my Dermaplast on the bathroom floor while making a Heiney Hoagie and happened to catch a glimpse of the carnage on the way back up. It was merely a glimpse and I was terrified of what I saw. I vowed to not look that way again until I was sure things were healed. I won’t even let myself look that direction in the mirror when I walk past to get in the shower.

Third – take a pillow everywhere with you for at least the first week and avoid hard chairs. I couldn’t even eat at the dining room table without sitting on a pillow and a large folded up comforter. Overcoming the pain from the stitches was the part of the healing that surprised me the most.

At two weeks postpartum, I would say I feel about 90% healed. This time last week, I thought I’d feel, as my husband so kindly put it, like someone beat me with a baseball bat down there forever.  In addition to that, my tailbone is STILL healing from what felt like being crushed as I pushed Kendall out.  I spend most of my time sitting shifting back and forth from one butt cheek to the other so I can avoid direct pressure on it.  It DOES get better. I keep telling myself that.

Finally, the pain that was the worst (and I mean worse than labor and delivery itself) was the catheter I ended up getting at 6:30 am the day I delivered.  After Karen made me promise to drink lots of liquids, I hydrated myself constantly, convinced that I would have no problem peeing in the 6 hour time frame.  Well, by the time 6 am rolled around, I had to pee sooooooo freaking bad, and yet was so scared to do it at the same time, that I had to have Scott come with me to the bathroom to hold my hand.

We both sat there, door wide open, nurse coming in and out, as I tried and tried to pee (as you can see, modesty is completely out the window at this point…forget any mystery that is left between you and your husband…it is gone forever).  The nurse tried everything from spraying me with warm water, to turning the water faucet on, to dropping an ammonia tablet in the toilet (I have no idea how that is supposed to help).  Nothing worked, and yet I felt like I was going to pop.

I reluctantly agreed to the catheter.  It. was. TERRIBLE.  Scott was there again to hold my hand (his must have been terribly bruised by this point).  I had two nurses try unsuccessfully to get it in before angel nurse Karen finally came to the rescue. Remember the “right labia” comment?  Yeah…those stitches were dangerously close to my urethra.  That made the whole thing 100x worse.  The ordeal lasted about 30 minutes and I sobbed through the whole thing.  I think Scott thought I was dying.  Seeing me in pain in labor and delivery never bothered him because we both knew how to handle it…we were prepared and knew it would be over soon.  However, seeing me like this was a whole other ball game, and I could tell it was killing him.  When they finally got the catheter in they managed to drain a LITER of fluids from me.  Looks like I did a good job re-hydrating myself!

So, are you scared out of your mind yet?  I’m sorry.  Let me just say this.  Even after writing and re-living all of this, I would do it all over again 100,000 times the same exact way if if meant having the same outcome.  Kendall is amazing.  I love him more than I ever thought possible.  He was/is worth all the pain.  Because here’s the thing about having a baby…. no matter how you go about it, it’s never going to be pain free.  Epi or not, c-section or vaginal… it’s going to hurt, but you usually come to terms with that by the end of 9 months, and you don’t care.  You do it for the reward.  And as whiny as this post may have come across, I didn’t write it merely to complain.  I wrote it to show you how much you can go through and still come out saying, “Man…that was really hard, but it was worth it”.

15 days old

May 17, 2008 42 comments
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