Asher's Birth Story: 3,142 Words Long. I Kid You Not. (It's totally ok if you want to skim. I know I would.)

Tuesday, October 10
8:10 am
Dave accompanies me to my 38-week appointment. We arrive 20 minutes early—the front door of the office isn’t even unlocked yet—so that we can be the first to sign in and presumably, the first to be seen. Dave is not really so good at waiting. My doctor, in addition to wanting to explore my sensitive womanly orifices with her gloved hand, also wants to see if the week of bedrest she prescribed the previous week has done anything to reduce my extreme swelling. (It hasn’t.)

8:30am
We are the first to be called back, and Dave is asked to sit and wait for me in the exam room. The nurse takes my blood pressure and looks concerned. It registers high (140/110) and she tells me that my urine sample shows a protein level of +4. The scale shows that I have gained another six pounds since the previous week.

I am shown to the exam room where I close the door, remove my pants and climb up on the exam table. Then I casually announce to Dave that today I will be induced. He immediately wants to know who told me that. I tell him about the weight gain and the blood pressure and the protein and how it is clear that I have preeclampsia and that the only way to cure me is to deliver the baby. He is doubtful. I, however, am supremely confident about my self-diagnosis. I simply shrug, roll my eyes and say, “Just wait.” I am unbelievably, weirdly calm even though having a baby an entire 11 days early clearly does not work with my anticipated schedule.

8:35am
The doctor enters, consults my chart, and then takes one look at my swollen legs, hands and face before announcing that I will immediately be heading to labor and delivery for testing. Unfortunately, she still wants to stick her hand up my vagina. She tells me I am now 3cm dilated and 80 percent effaced. We hear the baby’s heartbeat on the Doppler and it sounds perfectly normal. She tells us to pick up some paperwork at the front desk and that she will call to inform L&D that we’re on our way. Another one of the doctors at the practice is on call on the L&D floor and will evaluate my situation and talk to us about what will be happening. It is the only doctor that I haven’t met throughout the course of my entire pregnancy. HOW VERY APPROPRIATE.

9:00am
Upon arriving at L&D, we are sent to Registration. For testing? Well, that’s interesting. Guess that’s just the way they do things around here.

9:03am
Despite having sent in my pre-registration forms MONTHS AGO LIKE THEY ASKED ME TO, the intake nurse asks us about a billion basic questions. I suddenly realize they are admitting me to the hospital for something more than simple testing. Dave apparently does not. After each and every question, he continues to insist we are only here to have some tests administered. Our social security numbers? “Uh, we’re just here for testing,” Dave says. Our home address and phone number? “We’re just here for testing, nothing else.” Does the patient have a living will? “Seriously, just testing. For her liver or something.”

Ten minutes later she slaps hospital bracelets on us and calls in another nurse to escort us to our room.

9:15am
We’re in OUR ROOM. Where I am apparently expected to deliver a baby, although no one has specifically told us that yet.

The nurse shows me my hospital gown and explains how it should be worn. I am told to put it on and get into bed. She says my labor nurse will be right in and turns to leave. She’s already out of the room before Dave can finish telling her how we’re just here for testing. He then turns to me and advises me not to put on the gown just yet.

“DAVE,” I say to him. “We’re no longer here for testing. They’ve shown us to a room. With monitors and a hospital bed and a warmer. I’ve got a gown. WE’RE WEARING BRACELETS. This is it.”

“But… aren’t we’re just here for some tests?” he says.

9:30am
I realize two things. For starters, I am about to have to go through labor having had nothing to eat since 6:30 the previous evening.

I also realize that the only thing in my hospital bag is a pair of pajamas, three pairs of underwear and the baby’s going home outfit, size 0-3 months. The bag that is at home, sitting at the foot of the bed. The bag that I ASKED THE INTERNET TO HELP ME PACK AND THEN DIDN’T. I realize that at least this will make a humorous post.

We turn on the Today Show. I remind Dave how much I hate Ann Curry.

10:00am
My labor nurse arrives and asks me another bajillion questions that sound exactly like the ones I was already asked in the Registration office. She also explains the pain scale to me in a very thick Asian accent. “A one on pain scale? You perfectly happy. But you get to 10? That when someone killing you.”

She starts me on an IV. Aside from the pitocin-induced contractions, it is the most painful of the procedures I have done during delivery. The monitors are hooked up and the baby’s heartbeat is broadcast to the room. Someone else comes in to draw blood so they can analyze my liver enzymes and platelets. I know now that they were determining whether or not my preeclampsia had progressed to HELLP syndrome. (The results eventually showed that I was certainly on my way.)

11:30am
The doctor FINALLY ARRIVES. She tells me what I have known all along—I have severe preeclampsia and the only thing they can do is deliver my baby. Despite never having met her before, Dave and I fall instantly in love with her. She is wonderful and caring and makes me feel completely comfortable. (She also tells my mother I am beautiful, which we all know is a lie because we have all seen the photos of exactly what I looked like during labor. “Beautiful” is not a word I would use to describe me then. Perhaps “inflated” and “bloated” would be more appropriate.)

Anyway, I am only comfortable for a few minutes because then they break my water and start the pitocin drip. I am relieved that the process of my water breaking doesn’t hurt, and I am amazed by the fact that hospital staff trust those thin little paper pads that patients lie on to soak up all that fluid. Because that felt like A LOT of fluid. Warm fluid. It is a most disturbing feeling.

12:30pm

We collectively decide that this baby thing? The one where one comes out of my body? Is real. We call our parents. We call our friends. I start making a list of the things Dave needs to run home and retrieve. He is very concerned that we never bought him any snacks.

In the meantime, my contractions are manageable. I try to relax and watch TV and ignore that my stomach is growling.

1:00pm

Another cervical check shows that I am now 4cm dilated. They turn the pitocin up a little, and I send Dave home to pick up everything we think we need and to let Hambone out. In the meantime, I will suffer through the minor contractions on my own. I am strong enough. I can handle this.

1:30pm
Dave is still gone. The contractions are getting stronger. My bloodwork comes back from the lab and I overhear the nurses discussing how my liver enzymes are ok, but my platelets are pretty low. There is a chance that I will not be eligible for an epidural should I desire one. This is not the kind of information that is particularly comforting when my discomfort is growing and my husband is NOT HERE TO HELP ME OUT. My nurse decides to get permission from my doctor to administer the epidural if I decide I want one.

2:00pm
Dave is STILL NOT BACK. The good news is that I can have the epidural—in fact, it is actually recommended since my blood pressure is so high. The contractions are so strong now that I cannot talk through them. But I want to hold out until Dave comes back so that he will be there to hold me steady as they insert the needle. I do not necessarily relish the idea of hugging my little Asian nurse during the procedure. I am terrified that I will crush her.

2:15pm
I request the epidural. Dave has not arrived yet, but I can’t wait any longer. I hurt, and my blood pressure is climbing.

2:17pm
The anesthesiologists arrive. As they prepare their instruments, I remember how at my very first prenatal appointment, Dave asked the doctor whether my scoliosis could interfere with epidural placement. I had seen an episode of Maternity Ward on Discovery Health where a woman was unable to get an epidural because her back was so misaligned. At the time, I was kind of embarrassed that Dave brought up the subject of the epidural up at my 8-week appointment, you know, approximately 32 weeks before I’d even need it, but now that I was in the throes of labor, I was glad to know that the doctor had assured us that a minor case of scoliosis would not be a problem.

So you can imagine how surprised I was when it took—ahem—SEVEN TRIES (and two different anesthesiologists) BEFORE THEY GOT THE EPIDURAL IN. All told, it took about 30 minutes. Thirty minutes of torture. Thirty minutes of leaning all of my weight, my ENORMOUS SWOLLEN WEIGHT, on that poor little teeny tiny nurse.

2:45pm
Epidural is in. And working. And I feel great. Dave arrives. My mom arrives. The doctor arrives again and announces that I am dilated to a 5. She also tells me that the baby is a good-sized baby, probably about seven pounds. I am relieved that he isn’t more than eight. I am also happy that Dave has brought his laptop back with him and I attempt to write a quick post but find that I have performance anxiety with everyone else in the room.

My teeth are chattering constantly thanks to the epidural. Everyone else thinks its funny.

4:45pm
The doctor checks me again. I am fully effaced, dilated somewhere between a 5 and 6. She estimates that the baby will be here by 8. I update the Internet with the news. Because I am a dork. Also? ENORMOUS. Look at the size of that head!



And then I realize: I will have a baby in less than FOUR HOURS. Four. Short. Hours.

Holy. You. Know. What.

4:50pm
The nurses are constantly having to readjust the external monitors because we are losing the baby’s heartbeat. It is terrifying when it happens, but a few quick adjustments and it always pops back up. Those few seconds when it disappears makes my own heart almost stop beating. I ask Dave to turn down the sound so it doesn’t alarm me quite as much.

4:55pm
Things start getting uncomfortable. I can hear the baby’s heartbeat dropping every couple of minutes. I am told that it is each and every time I have a contraction, which of course I can’t feel. The nurse summons my doctor. With the nurse’s help, you know, because I can’t feel my lower body, I am switching positions constantly to try to lessen the stress on the baby.

For the next 15 minutes my doctor checks my progression often. The baby is in clear distress and she is hoping I will miraculously dilate another 4cm so that we can get him out as quickly as possible.

I am nervous. Dave is clearly nervous. The doctor reassures us that everything is going to be fine, that she won’t let anything happen to the baby.

5:10pm
No change. Still dilated to a 6.

The doctor takes my hand and says that she hates to do this. The baby is a good size. She knows I would be a great pusher. But he is stressed and his heartbeat is going from 150 beats per minute down to less than 60 with every contraction. He can’t make it through several more hours of labor and pushing. She wants to do a c-section.

Dave turns as white as a sheet. He is scared. I am scared. I say yes, of course, if that’s what’s best for the baby, then that’s what we have to do.

They start prepping me for surgery. Dave leaves the room to collect himself. I start to cry and thankfully my mom is there to comfort me. I tell her that I don’t want to be like Jesus. Of all things, I am terrified of having my arms strapped down crucifixion-style for the delivery.

A nurse I have never seen before comes in to shave me. I never see her again. I wonder if she was specifically hired to be the Shave Nurse. This makes me laugh a little.

5:25pm
I am wheeled down to the OR. I am nervous without Dave by my side. I make terrible jokes to the doctors in the room about how I never should have watched “When Surgical Tools Get Left Behind.” They laugh politely.

Four people surround me and hoist me onto another bed. I wonder if this is standard procedure or if they took one look at me and decided they needed more manpower. I am undressed and prepped with iodine and more medication is administered through my epidural.

At this point I have accepted the situation and am relatively at ease. The nurses are wonderful; the anesthesiologist is encouraging and soothing. I try to forget that there are several complete strangers hovering around my completely naked body. I am thankful I can’t see it myself.

5:30pm
Dave is allowed into the room. He later tells me there is nothing worse in the entire world than walking into an operating room and seeing your wife laid out on the table ready to be sliced into. I imagine that it was also horrible for him to see my pasty, swollen body lying there completely unclothed although he didn’t say it.

He sits down behind me and the procedure begins. I don’t feel much, not even the tugging and pulling they assure me I will. What I do feel is my body being shaken around—c-sections are apparently not the most gentle of procedures. Dave rubs my head absentmindedly. I shiver and my teeth chatter some more. We don’t say anything to each other. We just wait.

5:34pm
They pull him out. He’s crying. And then I’m crying. The nurses carry him to the warmer that is positioned directly beside me—I can turn my head and see him. Dave sits motionless, shocked, beside me. I tell him to get up and go see the baby. He waits another few seconds before he can bring himself to do it. The nurses motion for him to come over and he does. He tells them his name. He takes a couple of pictures. When he turns to look at me, I can see that he is beaming. He is a proud new dad and he looks so happy and I fall in love with him all over again.

5:36pm
Asher is weighed and measured and pronounced completely healthy, with Apgars of 8 and 9. He is tiny, less than six pounds. I am surprised at how tiny. I expected a big baby.



They bring him over to me and I kiss him and cry some more. I am surprised that I don’t mind at all that he’s still a little grimy from birth. I am surprised at how emotional I am. I am surprised that I already love him so so very much.



Dave is allowed to take Asher out into the waiting room to introduce him to his grandparents and aunt and uncles who have already assembled. They take turns holding him and passing him around and adoring him.

I don’t get to hold him.

5:47pm
I am stapled up and moved into recovery. The entire emergency procedure takes all of 17 minutes start to finish. On my way out of the operating room I notice that there is a copious amount of blood spattered all over the wall. I am pretty sure its mine, I just don’t know exactly how it got there. I do not ask. I now wish I had.

6:00pm to 8:00pm
I recover. In recovery. While everyone else watches through the nursery windows as Asher receives his first bath and takes his first bottle (something about low blood sugar, I was not exactly competent enough to care at this point).

I dry heave from the medications and sedatives, but because I haven’t eaten in more than 24 hours, nothing comes up. I also fart like crazy, without even knowing it is my key to getting to eat later on that evening. The two hours in recovery are fuzzy; I know I dozed off and slept for much of it. I know they kept me longer than the standard one hour because my pulse was low (60bpm, actually quite normal for me) and my blood pressure was so high.

8:15pm
I am wheeled up to recovery. As soon as I’m set up in my room, family members crowd in. They tell me over and over how beautiful Asher is, how great I did. No one can believe how small he is.

I still haven’t held him, and Dave is frantic because the nurse in the nursery assured him that the baby would be able to join us as soon as I got up to the room. He harasses the nurses for more than 45 minutes before they will allow out of the nursery. In the meantime, I attempt to make small talk about labor and delivery and the c-section in mixed company. My brother, who is expecting his own baby in May, is horrified and surprised by every single thing I tell him. The boy needs to read a freaking book. We are all laughing and smiling. I am on the world’s biggest endorphin rush. I just had a baby! I’m not pregnant any more! And apparently my baby is beautiful! Hooray!

9:30pm
Asher is finally allowed to join us in our room. Dave wheels him in in his little plastic bassinet.

I hold my breath when I see him. I know the next few minutes will be one of the most defining moments of my life. So I reach out and take my son into my arms for the very first time.



And it’s amazing.

Comments

[strange bird]

AwwwwwWWWWwwwwww :)

[hydrogeek]

Beautiful.

[Obabe]

im going to read this over and over and over. wonderful story and a wonderful (and cute!) outcome. congrats all over again.

[Lori]

That was the sweetest thing ever. I appreciated every single descriptive detail. I can't wait to make my husband read it! Tell me, did you use tiny puppet strings to get a smile? :-) What a pretty baby boy. I *heart* him.

[Julia]

That's possibly the best birth story I've read in a good long time. You've nailed the crying-to-humor ratio perfectly.

Beautiful.

[Cheryl]

Thank you for sharing this with us.

[chirky]

Even though I didn't understand half of the story (pitocin? what?), I got the most important part: DAVE WAS GONE FOR TOO FREAKING LONG. And also! Asher!

At 5:34 pm, when Asher was crying? And so were you? I started crying, too. Did you cry writing that? I would have, since I obviously cried reading it.

Okay. Fine. When he was wheeled in to the room in the little plastic bassinet? And you held him for the first time?

I cried. Again.

[Kelly]

Thank you so much for sharing your birth story with us. I love that you were completely honest about everything you went through. How did you remember so much!? I think I'm going to have my husband act as my scribe during my labor and delivery in March - I'm sure he'll love that.

[Stacey]

I made it through every word. That was a beautiful birth story. Thank you for sharing it!

[Jessie]

That's a great birth story. Thank you for sharing it.

[Dee Dee]

I loved your story. Thanks for taking the time to write it.

[Susan]

Thank you for sharing that with us. I hope you make a hard copy also so Asher can read it and appreciate when he is older. I did the same for Elisabeth. My mom even kept my paper with my contractions written on it. Even though it was over three years ago I can remember everything. It is truly the most amazing and beautiful experience a person can have. I am so glad you and Dave were able to experience that. Life is a gift and we are so lucky.

[helen]

Beautiful, simply beautiful. Now I want another one... (baby, that is! not a different version. although that would be interesting- a choose your own adventure birth story. we never get the one we expect apparently!)

[Alexa]

Oh, *sniffle*. I'm so happy for you!

[Danell]

Thank you for sharing...that was perfect.

And that last picture is absolutely spectacular.

[whoorl]

love the birth story. love asher. love everything! :)

[C]

Great story but I'm not sure how I feel about the blood all over the wall in the Operating Room. Ewwwww! Did your husband notice it too?

[hlh]

I.did.not.almost.cry!

ok...yes I did. Babies are beautiful and so are the amazing moments after birth. I hope you print this and put it in Asher's baby book.

thanks for the warm fuzzy

[hlh]

oh, p.s. what is your thing against Ann Curry?

[owlhaven]

I read every word. Loved every word.

Hugs

Mary

[Lissa]

That was so beautiful. Tears actually made there way up to my eyes. I'm so happy everything turned out okay and he is a beautiful baby.

[Natalee]

Oh, Em. That made me cry.

Beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

[terri c]

Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.

[Teeny]

I'm reading this at work.

*Sniff*

Colleagues looking at me strangely.

*Sniff*

I love reading birth stories, although they scare the crap outta me.

[Kim]

What a great story (with a wonderful outcome)! Thanks for sharing it.

Also? That picture of his little face against yours in the operating room is seriously the most beautiful picture I've seen in a while.