My Journey to Parenthood Part 3

To get caught up, you can read Part 1 and Part 2


My Journey to Parenthood Part 3 
Well, finally, nine days after my estimated due date of November 11, I was having contractions.

They began at ten am Saturday morning, and were intense on and off all day long. And night. And into the next morning. They were not regular, but enough to catch my breath and occupy my thoughts. They kept me awake, and hubs on occasion.

Sunday we timed them - every nine to ten minutes, roughly forty-five seconds long. According to our labour cheat sheet - we were in labour. Yahoo.

We walked, we rested, we checked in with the hospital. Because the contractions were not close enough together, if we came in for an assessment, we'd be sent home. Not what we wanted or needed. so we tried napping - impossible. We walked around - didn't help. We played games - I lost. We rested.
We chatted with family. Nothing brought the contractions closer together, but they weren't far enough apart to really rest from them either.


That night we went out for supper with my parents, and hubs' parents (as they were in town to admire their first grandchild born two days previous to hub's brother). I couldn't eat. Enough was enough. I needed to know what the hell was going on. I had been labouring for 34 hours by time we finished supper and arrived at the hospital and it was about that long since I'd slept.

In assessment, they deemed I was in actual labour (insert angry eye-roll - I could've told them that) and I would be staying until my baby was born. Which, foolishly, I figured had to be soon. It had now been 36 hours.
Haha. They checked me - I was 4 cm.

FOUR CENTIMETERS.

I'd been in labour for 36 hours and my cervix was open 4 measly centimeters. (Goal is 10 cm, if you didn't know). Nothing like that devastation in the midst of labour. (For reference I was three cms at a doctors appointment a few days prior). I was exhausted, frustrated and feeling as if I were broken all over again. A nice way to book end the pregnancy. Rough start, easy middle, nightmareish end. If I only knew.

I'll spare you all the details and sum up with this. I had back labour. Excruciating back pain that never fully disappeared between contractions. This went on all through the night. By seven am, with another check that had me at 4 cm still - I was done. Ready to check out and go home. Forget this!

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There were some whisperings between the staff about the labour. How things were stalling. Plans to get things moving. I tried to tune them out, but it was impossible.

An epidural was started, and I was hooked up to the drip to get things moving along. By noon, I was checked again (8 cm - HUGE improvement) BUT the whispers were louder now. The baby had not descended into my pelvis properly but yet the head was already starting to cone. Plus, there were blood clots present the on-call OB didn't like. She'd be back in twenty minutes to reassess.

She came back as promised. When she broke the water, blood poured out. An order of "get her into OR" silenced the space for a heartbeat. She left and the room became a tornado of activity as papers were signed, my bed was moved and hubs was given scrubs.

In the cold operating room, I was strapped to the table, tears falling from my eyes. Had we come this far only to lose out in the end? I begged the neonatologist to save my child, as we had no idea was was going on. No one was talking to us, and we didn't understand what they were saying to each other. My epidural was topped up quickly. My hubs ran in. My baby was born at 12:38pm - minutes after breaking the water.
My Beautiful Baby - hours old
A soft cry filled the room. My baby was alive, but the cry sounded as if it came from thirty feet away instead of an arm's length. The anesthetist asked if she could announce the sex of the baby, to which the OB agreed, and she told us "It's a BOY!".

After a quick kiss on my baby's forehead, he was whisked away to the NICU. I did not get to hold him or see him. Once I was out of recovery, I was wheeled past his temporary home, where I did hold him - for literally all of three minutes - before they took him back. It was only hours later, nearly 6pm, when I finally got my son back in my arms. (He had some minor breathing issues but recovered beautifully within a few hours.)

This journey - albeit a rough one - had an incredible happy ending. As it turned out we were only minutes away from losing him. The placenta was 90% detached, and his life, unknown to hubs or I, was in danger. The quick thinking and actions of the hospital staff saved us both. For that, I am incredibly grateful.

Every day with my son has been a gift. He turns 12 on the 22nd of November. And for him, I'd do it all over again! Happy birthday JellyBean!