Saturday, November 22, 2003

On Wednesday, August 20th, Craig took me in for my first internal exam.  We were both excited, as I was nearing my due date; this exam would tell us if there were any progression at all, and maybe how soon I would be rushing off to the hospital. 

It started pretty uneventfully, really.  I had to pee in a cup as usual, then get weighed and get my blood pressure checked.  My blood pressure was running high that day, so Amy, the nurse, told me she’d come in after my exam to check it again.  After waiting around, Dr. Schwartz came in and started my exam.  It really was more fun than having my earlobes burned, but that’s about it, really.  He told me I would probably experience some spotting throughout the day, but there was no real progression.  I think I was 1 cm dilated, and 50% effaced.  Amy came back in to check my blood pressure, only to find it was still high.  I was sent to a cozy little room at that point, where I was hooked up to a monitor.  It basically was a large rubber band wrapped around my belly, with a monitor attached near where Brandon’s heart was beating – we were making sure he was moving normally, and everything was okay in there with him.  (I believe the test is normally called the “Non Stress Test” or NST).  I was hooked up to the monitor until almost 3 PM – and the doctor hadn’t been running late that morning.  We were getting nervous, not only for Brandon’s well-being, but also because Craig had scheduled a job interview that afternoon for 1 PM.  (He missed the scheduled time, but was able to go in later.)  After being in that chair for several hours with Brandon wiggling around as normal, we were released, and I was instructed to take it VERY easy, and drink a lot of water.

Later that evening, Craig and I decided to go out for what may well be our last dinner together before the baby was born – first, to celebrate what had been a great interview for Craig (though he didn’t end up getting the job), and also to celebrate the impending arrival of Brandon.  We decided to go to The Cheesecake Factory at 119th and Metcalf, because we didn’t want to wait around on the Plaza, and I wanted to go to Wild Oats afterward, if I had time.  On the way, we invited Craig’s parents to join us, since it was near their house.  It was around 7:15 or so in the evening when we left for the restaurant.  It was a hot, hot day, as had been most of the summer.  So hot that you could nearly cut the heat with a spork.  Or something like that.  Anyway, I had been miserable, because our air conditioner wasn’t cooling the house well, and I was stuck resting upstairs, where it was the hottest, so as not to endanger my health, or Brandon’s.  I was happy to get out and drive, even though it was that hot.  The car was certainly cooler than our house!

When we got to the restaurant, I made my ritual journey to the bathroom.  Our wait was going to be about ten minutes, so I figured I’d get that part taken care of first.  I went in to the stall farthest from the door, and emptied my bladder.  I was about to get up when I realized that there was still liquid coming out, and it wasn’t urine.  I waited a minute, figuring it would pass; when I realized what was happening, I dug out my wireless phone and called Craig.  He answered by asking me what was going on; I had been in there a good while.  “Craig”, I said, “I think my water’s just broken.”  I’m sure the panic ensued out in the lobby; being stuck in a stall, I wouldn’t have seen it.  Rather than waiting in that stall and then bolting out, I pulled up my shorts, locked my legs together as tightly as I could (how that would help, I’m still not sure I know) and waddled into the next stall, where I drained myself a little more, before repeating the above process two more times.  As I got to the door, the hostess came in to see if I needed anything.  I guess Craig was worried, and asked her to check on me.  I told her I was fine, and bolted as fast as I could waddle (legs tightly together) out the door.  We met up with Craig’s parents halfway to the exit, where Craig said “Hi and Bye” to them.  They followed us out the door, worried that something terrible had happened.  As we got out the door, I told them my water had broken, and I was trying to get to the car as quickly as I could, because there was a towel there that I could sit on.  At this point, my shorts were fairly soaked.  And I hadn’t even gotten to eat any cheesecake! 

Once in the car, I called Dr. Schwartz first, to find out if I needed to head to the hospital.  I told him that my water had broken at 8 PM, and he asked me to head to the hospital, just to make sure.  After speaking with the doctor, I called my parents, then called our doula, Kim Oursler.  I let them all know that I would be heading home first, to finish packing, then we would go off to the hospital.  I was to call everyone when we left our house to head to NKC hospital, since we were so far away from home, and weren’t quite finished getting everything together.  Craig’s parents were going to get some food, and then meet us at the hospital.  My mother must have called about five million times before we even got home; she called another eight million once we were home, before she finally decided she would just meet us at our house, because she just couldn’t wait.  She wasn’t in the least bit impatient! 

When we got home, I decided I should take a shower, because I wasn’t sure when I’d get to next.  I should’ve gotten something to eat, too; of course, I didn’t know that I’d go without food for nearly three days.  Ahh, yes, hindsight certainly is 20/20.  My parents and brother all showed up at our house right before I hopped in the shower – they were all more nervous than Craig or myself, so they were all ordered to just sit down and stay out of the way.  We finally headed to the hospital around 10 PM on the 20th.  I was more hot than nervous; even though it had been a cool shower, the heat and humidity of a Midwest summer still really got to me.  By the time we got to the hospital, I felt like I needed another shower! 

I (fortunately) had the sense to pre-register in June, so all I really had to do was check in with registration, answer a few questions, and then, we were off on what would prove to be a longer journey than any one of us had anticipated.

My memory gets fuzzy at this point, because of all of the commotion, so I may forget a few major and minor details.  We got up to the 7th floor, and I got into the lovely house garments.  There is nothing better than a hospital robe when you’re leaking everywhere to make you feel good about yourself.  The night nurse had to verify that my membranes had indeed ruptured; perhaps they’d had cases of women filling themselves with water to fake it before?!  We found that I was correct, my water had broken, and it really hit us – Brandon was on his way!  I was hooked up to another monitor, had a saline drip inserted, and the dance began.

Unfortunately for both Brandon and myself, my labor never really progressed.  I never got more than 2 cm dilated, I think, and I think I was about 50% effaced.  We started my Pitocin drip around 2 AM of August 21st, to induce labor.  I’d not even had any contractions up until that point, but once the Pitocin kicked in, it was a different story.  The contractions started coming regularly, but nothing was really happening.  They weren’t unbearable until later that night, when they really cranked up the Pitocin.  I spent a good amount of time on Thursday trying to walk the halls (with a towel between my legs; I was still basically a fountain!) or bobbing around in the tub.  I also got on the “peanut”, an odd, peanut-shaped birthing ball, and got into the rocking chair, but nothing seemed to help Brandon make his way into the world.  I’ve got to admit that Kim, my mom, and Craig were great throughout the whole thing, except when they got hungry.  Yeah, I told them about hungry, that’s for sure.  At this point, all of the hours, minutes, even days started running together.  At some point, Dr. Schwartz had the Pitocin cranked up so high that I was having one major contraction.  I don’t know how long it lasted, only that it was nearly the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt.  I was crying and trying to hard to get through it, knowing I had to, to make sure Brandon would be okay.  I remember that Kim was urging me to try to walk it off, or try the birthing ball, but I kept telling everyone that I just wanted to rest in bed, on my side.  (Come to find out, Brandon was not in the correct position for birth, anyway; he was face-front, instead of back.  Dr. Schwartz had me try laying on my side, turning my belly to the mattress as best as I could, to try to turn Brandon into the proper position.  I think he turned some, because I felt some pain from that, but I never found out for sure.  Funny how my instincts guided me throughout the whole process.)  My mom was just trying to make everything okay.  Craig was around somewhere, doing something – mainly I think he was just holding my hand.  Craig’s parents, my dad, Sean, and Boe came in and out once in a while, but didn’t really stay too long, once things got real intense.  Maybe because I kept threatening to show them my butt?

Dr. Schwartz was coming in, talking about epidurals and C-Sections.  I was in intense pain, but didn’t want an epidural, because I was afraid of what it may do to Brandon.  I’d spent so much time trying to make sure Brandon was healthy while I was pregnant, by avoiding taking most anything when I got sick, and that sort of thing, that I didn’t want to introduce an epidural if I didn’t have to.  I still wanted to try to have him naturally, and be able to move around.

My family was concerned, however, and the tension you could cut with a knife.  Everyone seemed to be upset with the nurse except Craig and I; we both knew she was only doing her job, and what the doctor wanted.  After having a meeting with everyone, I decided I would let them give me a dose of a mild antihistamine that night; it would help me sleep (which I hadn’t really done in a few days) and it would help me get through the pain.  I was nervous about the antihistamine shot, but it was only a small needle in my left thigh – the nurse administered it during a contraction, so I barely noticed it.  The fun part was that the monitor I was hooked up to not only let us hear Brandon’s heartbeat throughout our pre-delivery stay, but it also showed the amount and intensity of my contractions.  I remember crying on Thursday night because I was hot and tired, and I wanted a shower; the doctor agreed to let me shower and then get my shot.  I think getting a shower actually helped more than the antihistamine did; I apparently had longer, more intense contractions throughout that night, but slept through every single one of them.  Everyone was impressed with that feat.  I was just glad to get some sleep.

The next morning, I awoke feeling a bit more clarity.  I knew I was starting to get concerned for Brandon’s well-being, as he was rolling around in my belly without any water, and it had been 2 ½ days.  Craig and I talked it over, and we decided since I was still not past 4 cm, I would have a C-section.  I was told that Dr. Schwartz would be able to get me in around 11 AM on Friday, the 22nd, so early that morning, the nurse stopped my Pitocin drip.  If only I could get her to bring me some food, but I couldn’t.  The only thing I’d had was a bit of orange juice Kim snuck to me the day before, which I’d thrown up later that day during my non-stop contraction. 

The nurse came in around 10:30 or so to start prepping me; I got a nice, cold shave in my nether regions, and Craig got dressed in his scrubs.  I think they had to bring in a larger size, mainly because the shoes wouldn’t fit!  I think I had a goofy hat on – at that point, nothing mattered except bringing Brandon into the world.  I was wheeled in, and I’m pretty sure Dr. Schwartz had some pretty bad jokes to tell (he always did!).  There, (in the sub-arctic room) I met my anesthesiologist.  He walked me through the epidural procedure, telling me of all the risks, and what exactly they were going to do.  Craig wasn’t allowed into the room until they were ready to start slicing me up, so he watched the epidural being administered through the little window.  It really didn’t hurt like I thought it would – it was only some pressure in my spine.  Craig told me there was a lot of blood.  Once the epidural took effect – and it was pretty quick – they let Craig in, and got ready to start the procedure. 

One of the nurses turned on the radio; the song playing was something by The Backstreet Boys.  I told them I wasn’t going to stick around listening to something that sucked, and that my baby was going to need some rock and roll.  They turned it to 98.9; I forget what song was playing.  By that time, they were cutting me open and flinging stuff around.  I remember smelling burnt something, only to realize it was probably me as they cut me.  I could see some of what they were doing in the reflection of the light above me, and I could feel that they were wiggling my abdomen, but that was it for me.  I was behind the drape.  Craig, on the other hand, got to watch the whole thing, which seemed to take only a few minutes.  At 11:43 AM on August 22nd, Brandon Austin Clemons was born.  The doctor took him out and briefly showed his gooey, blue face to me over the drape.  In what would become normal habit for Brandon, he drooled baby-goo on me, just missing my face.  How precious!  Craig tells me that when they placed him on the table to clean him and warm him, he grabbed the blanket and started chewing on it.  That’s something he did pretty frequently, and something he still does.  When Brandon arrived, his eyes were wide open, and he was taking everything in.  From the start, he was a nosey baby, in everyone’s business.  We knew right from the start he was going to be an active baby, and probably quite a handful.  We were right.  He was also a natural at breastfeeding, ready to suck on just about anything.

We were overjoyed with our little one.  He was 7 pounds, 2.3 ounces, and was 20 inches long.  He was so cute, even with his temporarily cone-shaped head.  It seemed, though, that his respiratory rate was too fast, and cause for lots of worry.  On Saturday night, our nurse took him into NICU to run some tests and keep a better eye on him.  He stayed in the NICU until Wednesday, August 27th.  He suffered from respiratory distress, which made his breathing irregular, sometimes very fast.  It’s apparently common in babies born by C-section, as they’re not squeezed through the birth canal, getting the fluid out. 

We finally had our baby home.  It was a big adjustment for all three of us, but well worth it.  We have now a happy, healthy three-month old little boy, who surprises us every day with his intelligence and humor (not to mention his diapers!)  Neither of us can imagine life without him.  He really is precious.  But don’t tell him we said that, he’s already a character.

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