So I'm up when I should be sleeping, so I'll tell you all the story of when Little M came into the world. By the way, this is what I remember happening, I'm told I have bunches of it wrong, but until Big M starts his own blog, this is the official story.
It was a lovely sunny day, the wind making it cooler, but a typical fall day for the area, a nice 70ish day when I waddled my way into my OB's office. It was two days before I would be 37 weeks, and I was exhausted, huge, and wanting some relief.
Like a typical office visit, my blood pressure was taken and I was weighed (always depressing, pregnancy or not). When the doctor came in I mentioned to her that I no longer was having to take insulin to keep my blood sugar normal with the gestational diabetes and she told me that if could mean that the placenta was no longer funtioning correctly, which scared the living daylights out of me. That had been going on for at least two days, what had I done to my baby??????? Between the nice gray palor on my skin, the elevated blood pressure and the non-functioning placenta, she told me to go right over to the hospital. We were going to be having this baby by the next day.
Now, she had intended to induce me a week later than that, so I probably should have been more emotionally ready for this, but I wasn't. I called Big M, who was in the middle of getting physical therapy for his back ("Do I need to come right over there????" "No, honey, finish your session and just meet me there"). Then I started to tear up (stupid hormones!) and went into my docs office. I told her I just wasn't ready for this and could she please tell me what was going to happen?
She was AWESOME! She walked me though everything, and when I got over to the hospital they were waiting for me and put me in a gown and a room, and I just had to wait for her to get there. They put several IVs in me, and started me on Magnesium Sulfate (apparently it is to make sure I don't have any blood clots before, during, or after the birth). And they put in a catheter, which I was so not happy about, but turned out not to be so bad, at least I didn't have to run to the bathroom every 20 minutes like that last month of pregnancy. And that night they let me eat dinner (hospital food that was actually good!) and put in whatever pill that was supposed to get the show going so that I'd be ready for the opening show bright and early the next morning.
The next morning comes, and they don't let me eat, except for "ice chips", which meant me feeling like the Sahara, and sneaking huge gulps of water whenever I could. I DO NOT recommend this to anyone, and I'll tell you why in a little bit.
My doctor comes in and keeps checking me, "You're dilated this much, so much effaced, blah, blah, whatever, whatever". Just tell me when I get to have the epidural, because I sure as HECK don't want to miss that window! So I get to have the epidural, they put another needle thing in my back for that, and I'm starting to feel better about the whole thing.
By the way, Big M stayed with me for all but one night in the hospital, bad back and all, he was a trooper.
So by around 2:30 in the afternoon the doctor tells me Little M is not descending into my pelvis. I could have looked down and told her that. And because of my rising BP, we have to get him out, so we'll have to do a C-section. I'm down with that, let's do it. There's a slot open at 3:30, so we'll do it then. Then the anesthesiologist (I'm just gonna call her ADoc) says we're good to go now (at 3 or so) and someone gives me something to bring down the BP. Only one nurse is in the room when all hell starts to break loose.
My BP drops too low and I start feeling faint. Then my stomach starts just churning and heaving and I tell the nurse I'm going to throw up. She gets this bag that sort of resembles that female condom and puts in next to my head then skeddadles out of the room to get someone who can help with something. I'm left alone with Big M who heroically jumps over to my shoulder and grabs the vomit condom.
I promptly heave the entire contents of last night's dinner into the condom, and he jumps at the force (or volume, I'm not sure which surprised him more) and proceeds to dump the entire bag down the left side of my face. This does not please me, and so I empty the rest of my stomach contents all over his favorite Mickey Mouse golf shirt. Well, he did get me first, I owed him.
So an attempt to clean things up is made while I'm wheeled into the operating room where everyone on the C-section team introduces themself to me. I'm still not feeling great, and I could not care less what anyone's name is, just make me feel no pain, and at the end, there had better be a baby to show for all this nastyness.
They put up a curtain between my head and my stomach and start cutting a line across my abdomen (from which they're apparently going to get the baby). I start moaning that I can feel the knife cutting me. Then as I realize no one is doing anything about this I say it louder, and finally Big M is yelling it across the room to the ADoc, who FINALLY does something about it and I'm back to being numb. I feel pressure on my abdomen as a nurse SITS on my ribs to try to get Little M to move down towards that line they've cut, but he's a stubborn one. (Uh, he's a man, they're all that way!)
So they end up using the vacuum extractor to get Little M out and bring him up to see me. I'm so exhausted and just empty, physically, emotionally, and spiritually, that I don't really make the moment count, I just make sure that Big M remembers his jobs (1. Count fingers and toes, and 2. GO EVERYWHERE WITH THE BABY!!!) He does. Baby is fine, digit-wise. And except for the giant purple bruise on his head, he's perfect.
OK, falling asleep at the keyboard is probably a sign that I need to go to bed. I'll finish this tomorrow, everyone. Thanks for hanging in there this far!