6 -9month old listening to music with a little humor

BABY AND I  MAGAZINE

Not Quite as Planned

By Mary Colella


I began my third trimester by turning thirty.  I had left my teaching position before the new school year, knowing that I wasn’t planning to return, but I stuck around as a substitute, writing college recommendations and hitting the treadmill during my free time on campus.  I was going to be sure my body was strong and fit for the delivery.
Still, I had so much left to do to get ready for my little girl’s arrival.  At home, I thought I was making good progress.  We had painted the room a not-too-girly mint green, and I eagerly awaited the coordinated purple butterfly décor that would arrive en masse at my baby shower.   We still hadn’t chosen a name but were finally agreeing on a couple of acceptable options.
The baby shower was very sweet, and it took two cars to get all of the gifts back to our house.  The once streamlined nursery was suddenly cluttered.  How could a tiny newborn need so much stuff?  Clothes, blankets, swing, bassinet, bouncy seat, play mat, board books, diapers, diapers, and more diapers.  She wasn’t even born and she had taken over the house already.
I had long since moved my wedding rings from my finger to a silver chain around my neck, but besides the weight gain and minor aches, it was a very comfortable pregnancy.  Yes, I’d stopped sleeping through the night, but that was just training, right?  Everything was great.
I didn’t mind the back pain when it first set in.  Or the hip pain.  Or the heartburn.  So much heartburn.  Even ice cream gave me heartburn, but all I craved was spicy food.  Soon, the constant pain made me cranky, and my husband was as eager to get the baby out as I was.  I started taking long walks every day, trying to move things along.  At my final ultrasound showed, the tech assured me that my baby girl was in position, adding that there was no way I’d make it to Christmas still pregnant.  Now, my greatest fear was having my water break during the Christmas Eve service.
But Christmas Eve came and went.  So did Christmas.  I had an induction scheduled for one week past my due date so I just kept walking.  And waiting.  Wishing that my girl would hurry up and get here.  I went to the doctor’s office for some minor cramping, and my P.A. asked if I would like her to strip the membranes to encourage natural labor to begin.  She warned me that it would be painful, but I decided to go for it.  She was right.  But I was fine when it was over and went home confident that things would start progressing soon.  They didn’t.  A few days later, I went back in to give it another try.  Again, no labor.
So in the wee hours of December 30th, my husband and I checked in to the hospital for our scheduled induction.  Apparently, the labor and delivery ward was quite busy that day, so the room we were assigned was a mere shadow of the beautiful suite we had admired on our hospital tour.  We met briefly with my doctor, a very sweet nurse set up my IV and hooked me up to the machine that delivered my Pitocin, and then we waited. 
Eight hours later, we were in a new, much larger room with a new nurse after shift change.  My contractions had gotten stronger, but I was still relatively comfortable and dilating nicely, so when the doctor returned, he decided it was a good time to break my water.  That was not the most fun thing I’ve ever experienced, but it was over quickly.  My pain and contractions intensified immediately.  It was go time.
Then things got serious.  The Pitocin affected my labor in ways I hadn’t expected.  Rather than a strong contraction followed by some relief, my relief never came.  My contractions piggy-backed on one another, rising and dipping but never fully subsiding.  After a dose of intravenous pain medication was completely ineffective, I decided that it was time for an epidural.  The insertion wasn’t as painful as I had expected, and I was excited that relief was on its way.  Unfortunately, the epidural didn’t help, and I continued to progress to fully dilated.
I had to keep waiting, though, because my girl hadn’t descended far enough for me to begin pushing.  Hours later, my husband asked the nurse to call the anesthesiologist again, because I was no longer tolerating the pain.  The nurse was hesitant, because too much anesthesia so close to delivery can make the mother too weak to push.  She brought my doctor instead, who examined me again.  Where I had been fully dilated hours ago, I was now only nine centimeters.  The baby hadn’t dropped any farther, and my body was now swelling, closing off the possibility that things were going to go as I had planned.  She had also changed position since my last ultrasound.  She was now anterior, sunny side up, and a more difficult angle to deliver.
When the doctor said that it was time to discuss having a caesarian section, I was relieved.  My mother had delivered all three of her children this way, and everything about my pregnancy had followed hers quite closely.  I had hoped and planned for a vaginal delivery, but I was now perfectly okay with turning over the reins to my doctor.  I didn’t like being separated from my husband while I was prepped in the operating room, but the hospital staff was kind, and my sweet nurse was extending her shift to stay with me.
The table was cold, and I shivered uncontrollably.  The lights made my eyes water, but my arms were stretched out to either side and strapped down for the operation.  When the doctor asked me if I could feel the instruments on my skin, I realized that I couldn’t and that I hadn’t felt a contraction in a while.  They had stopped the Pitocin, and the anesthesia was finally working.
Just before 4:30 AM on New Year’s Eve, my husband arrived in the operating room, camera in hand, and stood by my head while the doctor opened me up.  I felt very little, just a few gentle poking and tugging sensations.  My husband peeked over the paper divider blocking my view of the guts and gore and actually took a photo of my brand new baby girl as soon as she was out, still covered in my blood.  The staff reminded him that he wasn’t supposed to do that, but I’m glad I have that picture.
After giving me a quick peek, the nurses cleaned up my perfect baby girl, weighed her, swaddled her, and brought her to me for a kiss.  She and her daddy left the room for all of her check-ups.  I lay numbly on the operating table as the doctor put my body back together.  It didn’t seem real to me.  But when I made it to the recovery room and my healthy little angel was finally in my arms, I realized that this was as real a moment as I would ever have.


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