WhitneyTo Be or Not To Be a Mother
December 27th 2006 21:53
…Within minutes of the epidural I started to feel as if I was fading away. Like everything was moving far away from me and I was being sucked into a tunnel. I panicked. According to the doctors (who by the way never left my side) the epidural had driven down my already low blood pressure (I’m a 90/60 kind of gal) and they immediately injected me with something to correct this drop.
It worked. I was feeling better. Much better because the pain was also subsiding. You know I’d never even tried Pot (too scared my parents would find out and my father would beat the living daylights out of me – he had more than a bit of a temper) but having experienced the miracle of anesthetizing drugs, I’m thinking legalization is the way to go.
O.K. so I’m feeling no pain and therefore not screaming anymore, which pleased Nurse Rachet no end. The doctor performed an internal and happily announced, “she’s 10 centimeters dilated”. At which point they wheeled me into another room (not the delivery room) where I was to begin my pushing. The doctor figured I’d be there for a while so he said he’d be back in 30 minutes or so to check on me. I was left alone with my husband, to push.
The door behind the doctor had not yet swung shut when I gave my first push and watched my husband’s face turn as white as a ghost. “What?” I asked as I once again started to panic (yes, yes, I may be one of those people who leans towards the anxious) but he was already gone. Out the door he flew without one word. Leaving his pregnant and totally in-labor wife to give birth by herself. Without a word he’d left me as another push started, without any urging from me.
Seconds later my husband was back with the doctor in tow, who took one look at “you know what” between “you know where”, pulled a sterile looking sheet out of a nearby cabinet, scooped up my legs, placed the sheet under me and then did something between my legs that I couldn’t see.
“What’s happening? Tell me!” I screamed as my face turned beat red and I felt as if I was trying to rectify (no pun intended) the worst bout of constipation in my life (the doctor had told me that some women actually do have a bowel movement on the table, but that was too gross to even think about).
Years later (O.K. maybe it was only seconds but it felt like years) the doctor popped up from between my legs and held up my daughter. Immediately, the nurse appeared (when had she even arrived?) took the baby, mopped her dry, wrapped her in a blanket and then placed her on my chest. She was so tiny. And so cute. I cried.
“She has no hair,” the nurse said smiling. Of course I could see that she was wrong. My daughter, my baby girl had plenty of red peach fuzz covering her head.
Then they took her from me to check her out and my husband explained what had happened. According to him, the baby’s head crowned on the first push so he’d run to get the doctor, but when they’d returned more of the baby was out and the cord was wrapped around her neck. But he said the doctor had been so fast. He’d grabbed the sterile sheet, shoved it under me and unwound the cord from the baby’s neck all before it started to tighten. It was like my daughter knew she had to wait because only then did she finish her journey out of the womb.
“Was she blue?” I demanded. “Tell me!”
“Never, she was always pink and she’d cried immediately”, he swore, the subsequent
Apgar score of 9/10, confirming that my baby girl was A.O.K.
Hail Alexandra (Alex). My daughter had at long last arrived.
It worked. I was feeling better. Much better because the pain was also subsiding. You know I’d never even tried Pot (too scared my parents would find out and my father would beat the living daylights out of me – he had more than a bit of a temper) but having experienced the miracle of anesthetizing drugs, I’m thinking legalization is the way to go.
O.K. so I’m feeling no pain and therefore not screaming anymore, which pleased Nurse Rachet no end. The doctor performed an internal and happily announced, “she’s 10 centimeters dilated”. At which point they wheeled me into another room (not the delivery room) where I was to begin my pushing. The doctor figured I’d be there for a while so he said he’d be back in 30 minutes or so to check on me. I was left alone with my husband, to push.
The door behind the doctor had not yet swung shut when I gave my first push and watched my husband’s face turn as white as a ghost. “What?” I asked as I once again started to panic (yes, yes, I may be one of those people who leans towards the anxious) but he was already gone. Out the door he flew without one word. Leaving his pregnant and totally in-labor wife to give birth by herself. Without a word he’d left me as another push started, without any urging from me.
Seconds later my husband was back with the doctor in tow, who took one look at “you know what” between “you know where”, pulled a sterile looking sheet out of a nearby cabinet, scooped up my legs, placed the sheet under me and then did something between my legs that I couldn’t see.
“What’s happening? Tell me!” I screamed as my face turned beat red and I felt as if I was trying to rectify (no pun intended) the worst bout of constipation in my life (the doctor had told me that some women actually do have a bowel movement on the table, but that was too gross to even think about).
Years later (O.K. maybe it was only seconds but it felt like years) the doctor popped up from between my legs and held up my daughter. Immediately, the nurse appeared (when had she even arrived?) took the baby, mopped her dry, wrapped her in a blanket and then placed her on my chest. She was so tiny. And so cute. I cried.
“She has no hair,” the nurse said smiling. Of course I could see that she was wrong. My daughter, my baby girl had plenty of red peach fuzz covering her head.
Then they took her from me to check her out and my husband explained what had happened. According to him, the baby’s head crowned on the first push so he’d run to get the doctor, but when they’d returned more of the baby was out and the cord was wrapped around her neck. But he said the doctor had been so fast. He’d grabbed the sterile sheet, shoved it under me and unwound the cord from the baby’s neck all before it started to tighten. It was like my daughter knew she had to wait because only then did she finish her journey out of the womb.
“Was she blue?” I demanded. “Tell me!”
“Never, she was always pink and she’d cried immediately”, he swore, the subsequent
Apgar score of 9/10, confirming that my baby girl was A.O.K.
Hail Alexandra (Alex). My daughter had at long last arrived.
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Comment by Sarah White
coolgirlsar to the rescue
One Too Many Chocolate Bars
I must say when you said you're husband had gone I was expecting you to say he had passed out, good on him for his quick thinking and actions.
Again congrratulations and welcome to the world little Alexandra.