Today, my first-born turns 6. It’s been quite an interesting six years and I’m not quite sure where to start so I’ll start with his birth. Actually, before he was born. My former sister-in-law had her first-born in February 2006 and, when we were at the hospital, I was very sad and ex #1 knew it. I was 34 and wondering if a baby was ever going to be in my future.
I didn’t ovulate as the average woman would. I had been plagued with a horrible woman’s monthly for all of my life – and, at times, it wasn’t a monthly but a yearly. There were times when I would come upon my “monthly” and it would last for weeks instead of a few days. It was never pleasant, except when it was months and months between “cycles.” Because of all this, I was very astonished to find out, in March of 2006, that I was pregnant and was so back in February when my sister-in-law’s baby was born. I was ecstatic and our world and life changed forever.
Almost immediately after finding out I was pregnant, I started bleeding profusely. One doctor said that I would be fine, don’t worry about it. As the bleeding got worse, I sought out a new opinion from another doctor. Turns out, it was the same doctor that delivered ex #1’s youngest sister ever so long ago. He did some tests and gave me notice that my progesterone was extremely low and I needed to up it or lose my child. I started taking it and the bleeding stopped. I figured, after that, I would have a marvelous pregnancy.
I was wrong. Around June, I was told I had gestational diabetes and would have to give myself shots – in the stomach – for the rest of my pregnancy to keep my blood sugars low and not harm the child. Some fears were overweight baby, super-high blood sugar in the child and various other things. I fussed and fumed and was miserable for the rest of the pregnancy. If it could go wrong in the pregnancy, it did.
At one point, I tripped over a gas hose at the gas station and fell. I didn’t hear from the baby in my stomach for the rest of the day and spent some hours at the hospital, making sure he was still in there – wiggling and squirming with a strong heart beat.
Another time, I tripped over my skirt, going down the stairs in our house and again, got worried about him not moving and shaking in my tummy.
From daddy, “She was very concerned about things going wrong. We went in for well checks a few times just to make sure he was ok. After hearing the heartbeat each time she was reassured.“
October rolled around and, on the 23rd, I was admitted to the hospital to be induced. The doctor didn’t want to risk my child getting any bigger before a natural delivery.
At 6 p.m. on the 23rd, he hooked me up to the monitor and left me for the night. At 6 a.m., he reached his huge hand in and broke my water, trying to induce labor. When that didn’t work, he started me on pitocin and wanted to force contractions that way. This is when the problems started.
A hilarious side-note: the anesthesiologist came in, asking if I wanted an epidural. I told him I was doing fine and not to worry about me, just yet. He said, “No problem,” and went off to help another patient. Almost as soon as the door closed behind him, I got hit with the first contraction. Dear LORD, the pain! I yelled for ex #1 to go get him and bring him back. He was working on someone else, so I had to wait. And wait. And wait.
When he came back, he told me to sit very still and not move. I’m quite sure no human will ever experience such horror as being told to hold still while a doctor shoves a needle in your spine and contractions terrorize your body. It was awful!
After being drugged, I couldn’t feel much of anything below my stomach except for an occasional tightness. The oddest thing, however, was that I could feel it when I was told to push and ended up farting. Just a giggle for the girls there.
Unfortunately, every time I was told to push during a contraction, my son’s heartbeat nearly dropped off the monitor. He damn near didn’t have one – whenever I would push or have a contraction. This went on all day while the doctor and nurses kept an eye on things.
Around 6:30 p.m. on October 24th, the doctor finally said it had worried him long enough and we were going to prep for a cesarean – something was definitely wrong with my baby and the doctor wanted him out of me as fast as possible. By this time, I’d been in the hospital over 24 hours and was anxious to have it done with.
When they decide to do a cesarean, they waste no time. They shut down the pitocin and started prepping me and ex #1 for the operating room. It was mere minutes before I was being cut open and pieces of me were being moved aside to let my son come into this world. They waste no time!
I heard the doctor say, when he opened me up, that he was glad he had decided to stop everything and cut my boy out. He had gotten his head turned sideways, trying to fit through the birth canal and was about to break his neck – that’s why his heartbeat would drop to near zero whenever I had a contraction or was told to push. My son has a large head – and, as you’ve seen in pictures, it is proportional to his body – not an aberration.
The doc cut him out and pronounced him born at exactly 7 pm. on October 24th. A fun bit of math for y’all is this: He was born at 7 p.m., he weighted 7lbs and 7 oz and was exactly 21 inches long.
7 + 7 + 7 = 21
Isn’t that cute? Oh, and so was he. A perfect little boy after all the problems and terror the past 8 months (I didn’t know about him for the first month).
For a little bit, anyway.
More to come in Part 2. Yes, I will post several times today (and for those that receive emails, I apologize) – to memorialize my son’s birth and life to age 6.