They Don't Call It Labor for Nothing

The anesthesiologist still isn’t there a few minutes later and one of the nurses hits my IV with the Stadol. It was like I had just drunk four margaritas in quick succession; I could still feel the pain but I didn’t really care anymore. Just about that time the anesthesiologist finally strolls in the room. I have a nurse on either side of me trying to get me through the contractions and finish admitting me and Yale fanning me with some random laminated folders that happened to be in the room while this guy asks me questions that I could have much more easily answered had he been there earlier. Am I allergic to anything? No. What medication am I currently taking? I responded to that one by jabbing Yale in the stomach because I could not speak due to the pain he was supposed to be preventing. The doctor was very lucky that I was unable to get out of the bed, as I was not feeling too charitable to the male half of the human species at that moment and I certainly wasn’t feeling charitable to him, especially with the attitude he had. I’m sorry sir that my child decided to be born after you had already gone home for the evening and that my labor was inconvenient for you, but considering you are making an awful lot of money for this, you can kiss my ass. When he was finished asking the questions he could have found the answers to in my chart, which he was flipping through, he asked the magical question: Are you ready for your epidural?

Now remember, I had been given a rather powerful drug that relaxed me enough to feel great hatred towards the man who arrogantly was standing in front of me as if he were God. I had already had this conversation with the nurse before I was given drugs and pissed off and at that time I was undecided. I stared at the guy who was as sympathetic to my pain as I was to his having to leave his house in order for him to do his job. While I may have been in pain and this may have been the person able to relieve it, I was still Jenna and still mean and lucid enough to know the victory I was about to claim. “No thanks. I’ve gotten this far without it; I’m pretty sure I can make it the rest of the way.”

There was no going back at this point. I had gone without anything but Tylenol for most of the day and I certainly wasn’t going to voluntarily do something to myself that was going to prolong this, no matter how much less discomfort I was going to experience. Jenna was getting this shit done.

The on call doctor arrived and introduced herself to me—this is when things started going really fast. It seemed like everyone (except Dr. God) was in the room. Yale was told to grab one leg, a nurse grabbed the other, and off we went. My water was broken and the contractions began even faster. I hadn’t planned on a natural birth so my poor nurses had to talk me through it. I had so many directions being hurled my way I felt like I was some poor understudy who never planned on having to star on opening night.

Of course one pushes with each contraction—I had learned that a long time ago from watching Discovery Health. What I didn’t know was that I was going to have one rather annoying nurse standing over my left shoulder telling me to push when I wasn’t having a contraction and to breathe when I was. Had I not been so busy, I believe I would have punched her. This was the same nurse who was saying “Don’t make so much noise, you’re just going to tire yourself out.” Now, I didn’t want to make a scene and had not planned on screaming or anything. However, when one is doing something as primal as giving birth without pain killers, a little noise should be expected. I personally didn’t think I was that loud and it wasn’t like I was yelling curse words (although I could have and she just didn’t even know). Luckily, a more competent nurse told her to stop trying to direct me because I was doing just fine.

I was having trouble breathing even though I had an oxygen mask. The contractions were coming so fast I didn’t have time to catch my breath between them. I knew I should have not pushed on every contraction (everyone was telling me to slow down), but the sensation to do so is overwhelming. I can honestly say I have never been so concentrated on what my body was doing that almost everything else was blocked out—there was no reasoning with myself, no thinking about what I should do, just what I was doing. I did hear them say the baby’s heart rate was slowing down.

8 cm

I still had three weeks left until my due date. I had been ignoring Yale's urging to pack my hospital bag and no baby clothes were clean--they were just hanging in the nursery. When we told my mom we were finally going to the hospital she came over to help. I wasn't lucid enough to pack my own things, and honestly most of what I would have packed needed washing, so she just threw a bunch of things in a bag--luckily I was able to remember a few necessities (like shampoo) and added them to the lot. I remembered reading online to take my own pillow and make sure the case was a bright color so it wouldn't get confused with hospital bedding; we had to go back inside to get it and a red pillow case.
By this time, about 8:15 or so, it had been raining for a while, a nice steady rain that wasn't letting up. I squeezed into the front seat of the Focus (the infant seat in the back crowded the front passenger seat almost into the windshield) and Yale began driving. We didn't call Yale's parents and told mine to take their time getting ready to go to the hospital because if I really was in labor it would be a long wait. I had to tell Yale a few times to slow down because I was not going to be standing on the side of the road in the rain if he had an accident.
We arrive at River Oaks at 8:38 (I remember because we were able to take the main entrance to the Baby Suites; after 9 you have to enter through a side door). We go to the second floor (luckily Yale had the presence of mind to ask the doctor where to go as I had been planning on having this discussion with my doctor at the next appointment, therefore I had no clue) and walk off the elevator. The entire floor was empty except for a woman sitting in the hall with a toddler talking on her cell phone. I guess she read the pain on my face and asked if we needed help. Yale told her we were looking for labor and delivery. She said we needed to go and press the button on the wall and that the nurses would let us in. I go and push the button.
Nothing happens. No one comes over the intercom to ask if they could help us. I push again. Again nothing. Yale is beginning to freak out. He starts to stalk down the hall in the opposite direction in search of SOMEONE. I push the button one more time and a rather impatient voice comes over and says, "Yes?" "Um....I think I'm in labor."
The door is unlocked and we walk down the corridor towards what looks like an official looking spot. "You haven't been here before have you?" Yale and I look at each other. I'm wondering why this woman is asking us if we'd been there, almost like one asks in a restaurant, when she clarifies, "You haven't preregistered have you?" "No." I manage to grunt as I am leaning against the counter holding my belly. I am told to go to a room while Yale begins the paperwork.

The room was dark and I had no idea what I was supposed to do so I just kind of stand there. A nurse finally comes in and turns on the light and leaves. Then another comes in and starts getting things going. I put on a hospital gown and she wants to do an examination. Yale is there beside me holding my hand.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to be very calm right now,” says the nurse. Great, I think, I’m probably about 2 cm out of 10 dilated and will have to sit here all night until these stupid contractions subside. “You’re 8 cm dilated.”

“WHAT?! Are you kidding?” I manage to gasp, incomplete shock.

“What’s that mean?” asks Yale.

“It means we’re having a baby. And soon,” the nurse replies as she practically runs from the room to get everyone else moving. It’s about 9 o’clock.

The only thing I could think of was that he was still 3 weeks early. That means that his lungs, which are the last to fully mature, may not be ready. Had I been like any other sane woman, and gone to the hospital that morning, I would probably been given something to stop the contractions and then been given steroids that would help his lungs mature faster. As it was I stubborn and now we were way past stopping anything.

“Are you getting an epidural?”

“Uh, I guess so. I had planned to,” I said, thinking that I had planned to when I was envisioning myself getting to the hospital with hours and hours of labor ahead of me. As it was, I didn’t know how much I had but I knew it wasn’t hours.

“Well, we’ve called the anesthesiologist and he’s on his way.”

“How far away is he?” I grunt as another contraction begins.

Ten minutes and many painful contractions later the anesthesiologist still isn’t there.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Your water hasn’t broken so the doctor will break it when she gets here. If you get an epidural you won’t feel anything but it will slow the labor down. I’m not trying to dissuade you from having pain medication but you’re up to 9 cm and that baby is coming.”

I ask if there is anything they can give me to take the edge off. They say yes, Stadol, but if I get it the baby will be really lethargic when he gets here. I decide to wait.

General Tso's Chicken

Just a piece of advice: when nine months pregnant, don't eat a meal that could cause you to mistake labor for gas pains or indigestion.
Tuesday morning began much like any day--the alarm went off for Yale at 6 o'clock and he got up to get a shower. I had had trouble sleeping the night before but this was not a new development; I hadn't slept really well all night for about 4 months. I laid there for a bit, thinking that my General Tso's Chicken from the night before hadn't settled well. I thought, like most pregnant women, great, I get to deal with having gas today on top of everything else I need to do.
I had some breakfast (which I strangely can't remember) and got back in the bed after Yale went to work because I was feeling so crappy. My mother had taken the day off because she too had had the GTC for Monday night's dinner and wasn't feeling well either. I watched some of the Olympic coverage with Deuce and Tess, all the while getting really angry about the Chinese food. I wasn't doubled over in pain but I certainly wasn't ready to go to the grocery store (which I needed to do desperately) or do laundry (which, again, really needed to be done).
I began to think that maybe I was feeling so bad because not only had I eaten that evil food, but I was also having Braxton-Hicks contractions. I had been having them off and on for a few weeks, possibly longer that I just didn't notice, with the latest bout having been on Sunday. I had felt wonderful Monday, Rachel even came by for a visit during which we watched Platinum Weddings and insulted the rich bitch bride for spending $12,000 on a custom made Amsale gown that looked like it was made from synthetic satin.
Fast forward to lunchtime. Yale is very concerned, as he had been whenever I even mentioned feeling slightly odd, and tells me to call the doctor. I really didn't want to because my symptoms were so vague: just a slight discomfort in the lower abdomen that I had already dismissed as indigestion and cramping that I had explained as very normal Braxton-Hicks contractions. I did as he asked, however, and called and left a message for the triage nurse, as my doctor/nurse combo was in surgery. She called back about an hour later, I described my symptoms and what I thought they were, and she agreed with me that it was most likely a very normal, very inane event with a woman who was 36, almost 37, weeks pregnant. I was advised to eat some lunch, take some Tylenol, relax in the tub, and call if any signs of labor developed. I had my weekly appointment with my doctor the next morning and I decided that I would just wait and go to that before freaking out and demanding to be seen that afternoon.
By late afternoon, around 4 or so, I was beginning to get irritated. I had been looking all day online for a definite way for me to tell if I was in labor or not. My back was hurting but, again, I was 36 weeks pregnant and had gained about 35 lbs. by this point--of course my back was hurting! But my abdominal cramps were getting more painful, which I attributed to my impatience at the situation and my exhaustion from having been dealing with them since the night before, and I just wanted to know what was going on. I got back in the hot bath and was trying to decide with my mother what to do. She is not a person to get birth advice from and she was as confused by my symptoms as I was. The lists online for "Labor" and "False Labor" both had symptoms I was having. I still didn't think I was in labor, although I had to admit that if I wasn't it was a pretty convincing false alarm.
My mom had made dinner for herself and my dad, and made some for Yale and I also since I had been feeling so horrible all day. She brought it over right before it started raining.
Yale got home around 6 and commenced asking very reasonable questions, which just served to annoy me. I was so convinced that this was false labor I wouldn't entertain any other options. We sat down and ate, me stopping every few minutes to deal with a cramp. After dinner I decided, at the urging of Yale and my parents, to call the doctor's office and get the on call doctor to discuss my symptoms with me. She called and I told her I didn't think I was in real labor, my water hadn't broken, and that I hadn't been timing the "contractions" because there was no rhyme or reason to them--nothing regular, nothing to time. She told me to try and start timing them for an hour and to call if there were any developments. This was about 7 pm. We tried to use an online contraction timer for a while but it kept messing up--it was saying that my contractions were about 2 to 3 minutes apart, which couldn't be possible (at least I thought so). I finally looked at Yale around 8 and said "If this isn't real labor than it's a really mean joke. Let's go to the hospital so that they can either stop this or can go ahead and get real labor moving." Yale called the on call doctor and told her the new developments and she agreed that we should go to the hospital, if for nothing else than to be reassured that nothing was really happening.

A Model in the Making

The Early Bird Catches the Worm

Jonah Yale Murphy
Born: August 19th, 2008
Weighed: 6 lbs. 5 oz.
Length: 19.5 in.

Will post more when I get some sleep!!!

I Blame Shelby

Shelby sent me a link to an awesomely funny blog called Cake Wrecks (http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/) about cakes baked by professionals that aren't exactly what the person ordered. There are also some really disturbing cakes that may be exactly what was ordered (see the baby shower cakes).
Now I want cake ALL THE TIME. I know that most of those cakes shown probably taste like shit, but I also realize that in the Big Mac commercials the burger will never look/taste as good as they claim and that doesn't make me stop wanting one.

I ♥ (burn) You

I am currently taking two extra strength Pepcids a day and using Tums as necessary.
This big ol' baby boy is pushing all my organs to funny places in my abdomen and my stomach I am pretty sure is somewhere near my right boobie. Needless to say, this doesn't make the stomach happy, therefore it takes out it's displeasure on me by producing so much acid reflux I feel like I could breathe fire at just about any time of day or night.
Anyone have any remedies out there that is safe for the baby? While I am partial to ice cream, I have a feeling my doctor wouldn't agree.