Our little joy

It's been an upside-down week and a half. I can hardly remember how things were before Lucy Elizabeth was born. She is such a darling. She has the chubbiest little cheeks and dark eyes (when they're open!) and the darkest hair of all the children. Sometimes when her eyes are open, she looks cross-eyed. I call her "Kitten" because of the way she does her mouth and tongue when she's hungry. And sometimes she makes a little hissing noise. She's just a tiny little warm bundle that sleeps in my arms almost 24/7 and wakes up every now and again to nurse and to blink at us curiously.
My labor started several weeks before Lucy was born, with fairly intense Braxton Hicks contractions, as was the case with Bart and Drake. Two weeks before her birth, I was one centimeter dilated (according to the doctor) and 50% effaced. The very next week, the same doctor told me I was two centimeters dilated and 60% effaced and was making good progress, that I would probably not make it to my appointment the following week. So I was pretty encouraged that at least all the Braxton Hicks contractions were paying off. My appointment was on Thursday. Sunday, George took us all out to eat Thai food in Jacksonville, mainly because he was tired of my complaining and constant misery. I was hopeful that it might jump-start my labor, even though I had just eaten Thai with Skylar the prior week. No luck, though.
On Monday night, George and I rented a couple of movies from the RiverBend Market and sat down together. All day, I had been having contractions, which was unusual in that they generally only came on in the evenings. But I was crampy and uncomfortable most of the day. So when the contractions picked up during the movie and became more consistent, I felt pretty sure that the real thing was starting. Instead of my entire stomach tightening, I had cramping that started in my lower back and radiated forward to my front, before the tightening.
George called Mindy around 10pm to come on over and watch the children for us. By the time she arrived, my contractions were about 4 minutes apart, but they were not very painful. However, I had been told by the doctor that I needed to go into the hospital when my contractions were ten minutes or so apart, as this was my fourth pregnancy. So we went on in.
I suppose the first bad sign was that the hospital was packed that night, and labor and delivery was hopping. When we got upstairs, I was taken to a triage room with two or three other beds. As I lay there, the other beds were made ready for patients and another laboring woman was brought in. I was checked by one of the nurses who told me that I was barely one centimeter dilated and the baby was still very high. Both George and I knew right then that they were going to send us home.
Labor and Delivery was so busy that instead of the two hours I was to be monitored, it stretched into more like four hours. George slept on the floor, and my contractions became more painful. However, I had made no more progress when I was checked again, so I was sent home. I was so disappointed, I cried. I was just so ready to deliver the baby, and I was so tired of being teased by contractions and then - nothing.
We stopped at McDonalds on the way home - it was around 4am - and I ate a few chicken nuggets and had a soda. I figured why not, since I wasn't likely to be in labor anytime soon, and I may as well eat something. We got back to the house and Mindy let George and I sleep in until around noon. It was an awful sleep for me. The nurses had told me to take some Tylenol or Tylenol PM to help with the pain from the contractions, and that I should come back to the hospital when my water broke or when my contractions were more consistent and I had some bloody show (I know, I know, gross, but it's part of labor). So I ended up taking two Tylenol PMs, even though the last time I had taken only one, I had had a bad reaction. I had gotten a terrible case of restless legs, so much so that I could do nothing but get up and pace for about an hour. Well, this time it was so awful that George had to hold my legs down for me. They twitched so uncontrollably that I could not lie still. For about two hours, I could do nothing but cry and try to suffer through the twitching. I tried to get up and pace, but whether it was the extra pill I took or the fact that I had been up all night, my head was spinning so badly that I could not walk straight. It was terrible. Finally around 6am or so, I was able to drift off to sleep.
When George and I woke up, Mindy had taken the three children and Leslie-Grace to pick Mack up and go to Target. George and I needed something to do to keep our minds busy, so we went to Wal-Mart to do some quick shopping. We also picked up fabric and a pattern to make a small quilted diaper bag. We returned home to find the children watching "Snow Dogs". We spent some time with them, and then Mindy offered to take Skylar, Bart, and Drake back to her house for the night, to give us some time to rest. I was torn, but I figured I would feel better if the children were occupied and having fun. Also, I knew that I was not really in condition to be able to take care of Drake at the present. I was still having contractions every twenty or thirty minutes, and I was exhausted. George stayed home from work that day to help me out, but we planned for him to go back the next day, Wednesday. We both knew I would have trouble keeping up with the three children by myself in my state. So we agreed that Mindy would take the children back to her place for a day or possibly two, depending on the circumstances. We helped them pack and saw them off, with mixed feelings.
I had some soup and cheesy bread. Then we retired to the sewing room with the laptop. George cut out the pattern pieces and we laid them out and cut the fabric together while we watched Blades of Glory. George ordered Papa John's and we took a pizza break. Then we continued cutting and sewing until we had nearly gotten the bag done. George watched Beowulf and pressed the pieces and trim strings while I sewed. Finally around midnight, we decided to head to bed. While sewing, I had had to take a couple of breaks because of pains, and once, the baby did something weird that gave my stomach this rippling feeling something like when you rub a water balloon. It was very strange.
Sometime around two thirty am or so, I woke up to use the bathroom. The baby was pushing and moving about so hard, I had had a hard time sleeping. She had always been very active, but she was positively crazy that night. As I sat on the toilet, I felt her push down so forcefully that I told her to keep on pushing and break my water while she was at it. Well....
About half an hour later, I felt that same strange rippling inside my stomach again, and then a substantial trickle of liquid - not urine! I sat there, too afraid to hope that my water had actually broken, but eventually I got up and went to check. Sure enough, there was enough liquid to make me pretty sure my water had actually broken. Still, I went back to bed to try to sleep a little, but every time the baby moved, I felt another little trickle. Eventually, I woke George up and we went downstairs to figure out what to do. I tried calling my OBGYN, but unfortunately, they do not give out phone advice after hours any longer, but advised going to the the ER. Still, I was afraid that I would go in and would be sent home again. So I called our 24/7 insurance advice line. The nurse on call there did indeed advise me to go on to the hospital, even though my contractions were about 15 minutes apart and not particularly painful. So....on to the hospital.
Before we left, I made sure to eat a granola bar and drink some water. We checked into the hospital around 4am and this time I was actually put into one of the birthing rooms. Labor and Delivery was not very busy. I had the same nurses who were very attentive. They tested me to see whether my water actually had broken and joy of joys - it had.
So then began a long wait. I had to stay in bed for awhile so they could monitor my contractions and the baby's heartbeat. So George and I tried to sleep a little. We got those amazing warmed blankets they give you in the hospital. Honestly, I think the thing I love most about being in labor (besides the baby) is the warm blankets. After the shift change, a new nurse, Mandy, came in to check on me and see if I wanted to walk around some. I did. I still was not making much progress. I think I was only about 2 centimeters by this time, so I definitely wanted to get up and get things moving along. Unfortunately, there is only so much hallway we were allowed to walk in, and after a short time, I couldn't stand walking by the same three posters with inanely giddy people promoting breastfeeding and the like. Not that I have a problem with breastfeeding - Drake nursed until fifteen months - but little things have a way of being super-annoying during labor.
So George and I went back to the birthing room and I climbed back in bed. We tried to play card games, but all the new game rules George had downloaded before we left were way too complicated, and I was pretty tired by this time. I think we tried to sleep some more. I did what I had done while in labor with Drake at a similar time of the morning - watch Saved By the Bell reruns. Around 7 or 8 am, George made the happy she's-finally-actually-in-labor calls to our family members and friends. He went to get breakfast. I was absolutely starving, but since I was in labor (thank goodness!) I couldn't have anything substantial. One blessed nurse brought me a lemon ice pop and it was absolute heaven. The doctor interrupted me to check my progress and I couldn't have cared less.
I was still not progressing far, though, and my contractions were not very close together (0r painful, thank heavens), so the doctor suggested I talk with my nurse and make a decision as to whether I wanted to take Pitocin to induce labor and speed things up. I did. So we started the Pitocin, and from then on, I was not going to be able to get out of bed and walk around. Still, we were just eager to get things moving. When George wandered back in from breakfast (lucky him), he was glad to hear we'd started the Pitocin. I was glad, too, but apprehensive, because I'd had it with Skylar and Drake and I knew how intense it made the contractions. I had had epidurals with all three kids, and I could feel those intense contractions every time. With the exception of Bart's birth, in which the success of my epidural made the entire birth experience almost blissful (though not the episiotomy and subsequent stitches), all my previous labors had been pretty painful, even with the medication. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what pain was, and that I had a pretty high threshold for it.
During the morning, my contractions picked up a bit and became somewhat painful. George suggested I ask for some medication until I was far enough dilated to get the epidural. I didn't really want to - I could definitely bear the pain - but he pointed out that I'd had almost no sleep since about 2am and it seemed like it was going to be a very long day. So, I asked the nurse for pain medication and she gave me a dose of Demerol.
Oh my goodness....I don't know if everyone has this reaction, or if it was just me in my sleep-deprived, jacked-up hormonal state, but I think I actually hallucinated. I seriously was seeing little psychedelic flowers and bunnies and things scamper across my vision whenever I closed my eyes. Only seconds after the medicine went in, my eyesight was swimming and I was slurring my words. Eventually, I think I did fall asleep, but I would wake up now and again and just let out a laugh, or say something stupid to George, who was asleep thankfully and didn't hear me. Everything seemed funny to me, and fuzzy and warm. I could see why people do drugs. Read: this is not an endorsement to do drugs, kids. Drugs are bad, very bad.
Finally the drug wore off. George woke up and how we spent the next few hours, I can't quite remember. I read Parents magazine. At some point George, who was suffering from an acute case of itchy-ball syndrome, called his brother and the two of them determined he probably had jock itch. So he went out to the pharmacy and bought a spray for himself and Cosmo for me to read. I spent the next little while reading sex tips - which I had absolutely NO interest in at that particular place and time. But it did pass the time somewhat. When the nurse checked me again, she determined that I was still not progressing much and that the Demerol probably had slowed my contractions down. So she upped the Pitocin and told me (kindly) that I would have to suffer through the pain for a little while so that the contractions would have a chance to pick up.
Dad and Diane surprised us by showing up at the hospital a little while later. They sat in the room with us and we talked and shot the breeze for a good while. It really took my mind off the waiting and the contractions to have some more company. Eventually, while they were there, I did feel the contractions intensify, but it still was not unbearable. At the worst, I would just pause speaking for a moment and breathe until it passed, but it was definitely not enough to cause me much worry. I suppose around 4pm or so, the nurse came to check me, found that I was a good four centimeters now, and told me I could get my epidural. She told Dad, Diane, and George that they would have to leave for about half an hour while the epidural was put in me. So the three of them headed down to the cafeteria (I think), while I waited for the anesthesiologist to come up.
Mandy wheeled the anesthesia cart into my room, then informed me that the night shift had forgotten to do my bloodwork when I came in. She would have to do it before I could get the epidural. So, she took my blood and I waited. The anesthesiologist went to do someone else's anesthesia, and I waited some more. And while I was waiting, my contractions intensified probably threefold. I mean, I was starting to hurt. It got to the point where I had to grit my teeth and hold onto the bed railing with each one. I even let out some little whimpers - most unlike me. I could see my stomach rise and fall with each contraction, which has always freaked me out. I also felt a lot of pressure down under - almost an urge to push, though I was confused by that because just a short while earlier, I'd only been at four centimeters. And still I waited. I was worried because I didn't want to miss getting the epidural because I was too far along.
Finally, the anesthesiologist came into my room - good timing, too, because I was right in the middle of probably the most intense contraction yet. As I lay on my back, thankful he was finally there, he said something I didn't understand at all. Something like, "You know your blood count is low." Well, no, I didn't know that. No one had been in to tell me anything about my bloodwork yet. OK, so.... "We can't give you the epidural." I know he said more than that, but I can't remember what he said because that one little sentence "we can't give you the epidural" totally floored me. I mean, what? I couldn't have an epidural? This was my fourth delivery. I had had epidurals for all the others. I had never had any problem. What the heck was he talking about? So what if my blood count was low, just give me the epidural!
Well, all that was running through my mind, but I couldn't do anything but just nod my head and grit my teeth and try not to cry out in pain as the anesthesiologist stood by my bedside. Then he did something awful - he wheeled the anesthesia cart out of my room. I wanted to die. What was I supposed to do without an epidural?
When my nurse came back, she explained to me about the risks involved with the epidural when the blood platelet count was low. And mine was significantly low. Out of something like a 100,000 something-or-the-others, mine was like 84,000 something-or-the-others. So...that was that. Surely, though, there was another drug or something that would work almost as well as an epidural, right?
Nope. Just good old Vicadin. The nurse went out, and I curled into a ball and continued to breathe through the contractions. While she was gone, George returned and was surprised to find me in a lot of pain all of a sudden. When I told him I couldn't have the epidural he was like, "WHAT?" which made me feel even worse. Eventually, I made him go out and get the nurse because I really needed the medication. While he was gone looking for her, Dad and Diane wandered back in and sat down in their chairs and resumed conversation like nothing was wrong. I didn't know what to say, but I was about to cry out with one of the contractions, so I just said something like, "Guys, I think I need to do this alone." Blessedly, they understood at once and made a hasty retreat. Later, Dad told me he figured I was in a lot of pain because I had a death grip on the bed railing while I was talking.
George came back in and the nurse followed shortly. I told her how much pain I was in, and she told George she thought the news about the epidural had really freaked me out. But she checked me and found I was all of a sudden eight centimeters. She said I had accelerated into transition and that's why I was hurting so much. She told me I could have the Vicadin now. I asked her if it would take most of the edge off the pain, and she told me truthfully that at this point, with me being in transition, it would probably not do very much for me. Well, at that point, I thought I would probably die.
The pain got worse when she went out to get the medication. It got so bad that I just whimpered and gripped the bed railing, lying on my left side. When the contractions came, one after the other, George rubbed my back, I think. I do remember him urging me to relax between each contraction, to save my strength, and that little reminder somehow helped me get through each one. At one point, I thought I heard someone calling my name, like my dad, maybe, and I asked George if someone was calling my name. Then I felt foolish for asking it. I started feeling enormous pressure, and I wanted to push. I knew from previous labors that I should not push until the nurses told me to, so I fought the urge, but it was almost overwhelming. I didn't think I was going to be able to fight it. I really thought I might pass out from the pain.
The nurse came back in after only a few minutes to administer the Vicadin. Whereas earlier, I had felt the effects almost at once, this time I felt nothing. It wasn't until later as I lay on the bed delivering the afterbirth, that I even felt the medicine kick in. Then, when I should have been overjoyed and in my right mind, I just felt woozy and delirious. I was a little afraid to hold the baby because my head was spinning.
Anyway, after she gave me the medication, George told her how I wanted to push, and she checked me again and found that I was ready to deliver. Bang! Just like that! In only 40 minutes I had gone from 4 centimeters to ready to deliver the baby. I remember hearing her calling the doctor in for delivery and nurses rushing in to make hasty preparations. I didn't see anything, though, because my eyes were squeezed shut. I remember her telling me to push - I think I pushed maybe all of twice to get the baby's head out, and then once more. I was so grateful to push, I may have started to cry when they told me I could. But I thought that the baby would rip me in two, it hurt so much. One of the times I was pushing, I screamed, really screamed. I had never screamed at any of my other deliveries. I had cried out, maybe, but never had I actually yelled. I remember George telling me "Shhh...you're going to scare the other girls," but I did not care one little bit. He said he was trying not to put his hand over my mouth, like he does when Drake screams.
Oh, did I push. I remember how relieved I was when I felt her head come out. It took like one more push to get her out, and then, there she was. I don't really remember her crying when she was born. I do remember that George cut the umbilical cord. I later felt a little sad that I hadn't reached down to touch her fuzzy little head when she crowned, like I did with the other three. But honestly, it all happened so fast, there was no time to pause, and I was out of my mind during the delivery anyway. Later, while the nurses cleaned her up and delivered the placenta, I was woozy from the Vicadin. Thanks, Vicadin, thanks for nothing!
When they sat her on my chest, though, I loved her at once.
The doctor had apparently arrived just in time to catch the baby, pretty much. I don't remember it, but George told me later. I found out that this was because of the shift change at 5:30. Lucy was born at 5:33pm.
We named her Lucy Elizabeth (Elizabeth after my sister, who died in 2001, and Lucy because it was pretty much the only thing we both really liked). She was 8 pounds, 4 ounces, 20 inches long, and her head was pretty small for a baby's head. I was very thankful for this, having not had the epidural. Still, eight pounds is a lot of baby to squeeze out without medication. Lucy had (and still has) very dark hair and dark, pretty eyes. She's really just a pretty baby. She looks like a little girl.
I put her up to nurse, and she did a little, but didn't have much real interest in it yet. I kissed her little face and spoke to her, what I can't really remember. George held her, and we marveled that she was finally here. I marveled that I was in one piece. I hadn't had any tears, and I didn't need any stitches. Praise be! Honestly, how had I come through that hell virtually unscathed, while the other times I had torn twice and had an episiotomy once? I don't know, unless it's because without being numbed from the epidural, I was able to follow the urgings of my own body and know exactly when to push. Yes, it sucked, yes it hurt, but actually, as long as my labor progressed pretty fast, I think I would do it naturally again. It felt real. I didn't have time to stop and enjoy the delivery like before, to reach down and touch the baby's head, but I felt some feeling of realness that I can't begin to describe. I mean, after all, if we remembered every aspect of the birth, would we be so eager to do it again, and again? I know it hurt, that it was absolutely without any doubt the worst pain I have ever felt, and I also know that I would be a complete and total idiot if I wanted to do it like that again. But somehow, oddly enough, I kind of do...
Does that make me nuts?
However, I am saved from having to make that call. George is very firm that he does not want us to have any more children now. I'm kind of torn. In a way, I do, in a way I don't. To be done with my childbearing before the age of thirty is somehow very sad to me. For Lucy to be the last infant I give birth to and hold in my arms makes me want to cry. And yet...to be able to share each age and stage with my other children and not be in constant sleep-deprived baby mode, that sounds pretty nice, too.
We'll see.