Although I’ve presented this blog to you primarily as a party design blog, I can’t separate it from my role as mother. That role permeates every aspect of my life. She’s the reason I get up in the morning and trudge to a job that often makes me want to bang my head against a glass wall. I hope to have at least one more child…perhaps more (Husband and I are still in discussion). So I’ve decided to devote Mondays to my primary role in life.
Since I’m starting this blog just after my daughter’s first birthday, I want to share with you her birth story. Partially, it’s so I can have as many details as possible recorded to look back upon in the future, and partially because I find so many other women’s birth stories fascinating and hope that someone else might be interested in T’s own little version.
T’s Birth Story (WARNING: not recommended if you are pregnant or are scheduled for a c-section soon)- T was born at precisely 8:09am on Sunday, August 16th by cesarean section. It was the day after my last baby shower. My brother-in-law and his wife were sleeping soundly in our guest bedroom as I was getting prepared for surgery…and they had no clue. You see, T was five weeks premature. Husband and I still hadn’t even agreed on a name for her by the time she was born. All I knew is that I woke up at 2am on Sunday for the normal preggo-lady bathroom run, and felt something strange. Immediately I knew that my water had broken. I let Husband know and we rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night. Once the nurses confirmed that my water had broken (classic line – Nurse: Are you sure your water broke? Me: I’ve soaked through two pads and I’m sitting on a towel) and my OB (who was luckily on call that night) verified that T was still breach) we were scheduled for the first c-section of the morning.
After getting the spinal and being strapped to the table, things started to get a little crazy. Husband was late getting in the room because the nurses forgot to go get him -oops. I could hear everyone counting all their tools and going through everything. It was wild. I failed the scalpel touch test a couple of times – as in, the spinal wasn’t taking. I could hear the doctor saying “I don’t know what went wrong”. These are not words you want to hear when you’re strapped to a cold table in a freezing room about to have your stomach cut open and your child pulled out. Once I was numb enough for the doctor to cut, I could feel every tug and pull, and then-the room started spinning. I have a fuzzy recollection of a baby being held up to me and trying to give her a kiss, but not much more.
According to my Husband, the anesthesiologist said that I was feeling more than they wanted me to – so he hit me with Ketamine. Honestly, I am such a control freak, I hated it. Everything was spinning and the lights above me were going in and out. It was all I could do to focus on any one thing. I also hated the spinal. Not having feeling in my legs for hours felt like torture. Add to that the fact that I was reacting poorly to the medication and was vomiting for hours. I felt so bad because so many family members were showing up at the hospital all day and I wasn’t able to carry on a conversation for more than about a half hour without passing out or vomiting.
Anywho, after coming out of the recovery room, I was wheeled through the NICU to see my little Beauty. There she was in her isolette; hooked up to all these wires and monitors and she was so tiny. 5 lbs 1 oz and 17.75 inches, to be exact. I remember a couple over at the handwashing station getting ready to see their precious angel…and then cue me suddenly vomiting in the NICU. NIIIIICE.
After all the medication wore off that evening, my husband wheeled me back over to the NICU to finally hold my daughter.
Even though she ended up staying in the NICU for three weeks, she was a pretty healthy baby. It turns out that she kept having heart rate dips (called bradycardia or bradies) because she was having reflux issues and kept holding her breath. After we found the proper dosage of Zantac, she finally got to come home. So many people say the happiest day of their life was the day their child was born. The happiest day of mine was the day I got to bring my little girl home.