A Baby Story, Part 6: Where Has The Laboring Gotten Me?

Firstly, today is International Women's Day: one of my favorite holidays that I celebrated in Ukraine. So, to all women, I congratulate you on your womanhood and wish you a lovely day!

I ended yesterday's post by recounting how my doctor gave me an hour to rest with no pitocin and with minimal interruptions from the staff. Although I didn't fall asleep, I was able to calm down in mind and spirit. I spent a lot of time praying. My prayers weren't necessarily coherent or logical; they were more of the "help-Lord-don't-think-I-can-please-keep-my-baby-safe" variety, but thankfully, He's willing to listen to our hearts, whether or not we're eloquent.

At the end of the hour, a new nurse came in. I thought I recognized her, but I couldn't figure out how or why. Thankfully, she cleared it up for us: we had been in a few days earlier for a few hours and had briefly met her. She told us her name was Laura, and she had been hoping she'd be working when we came in to have our baby. It completely warmed my heart and continued keeping my spirits calm.

Laura restarted the pitocin and talked with Brad and me off and on. One thing I appreciated, though, was that she didn't continually come in and out in a way that kept interrupting our ability to chill and wait out more labor. That part of being in the hospital was one of the most difficult to adjust to: the constant in-and-out of the health care workers, no matter how nice they may be.

My contractions restarted, and I could still feel them. I used my little epidural pump over and over. It didn't really help, but I tried to placebo myself. Laura kept tabs on how much pain I was feeling how often so that my health care team could stay on top of the situation. I tried really hard not to think about how I was going to manage the pain effectively during the delivery. I could feel the contractions getting stronger and was trying to act like a big girl (I definitely don't think that I was fulfilling that goal very well).

We continued the contraction monitoring (group activity) and breathing through the contractions (solo activity) for two and a half more hours until my doctor came back in. I just knew she was going to tell me it was time to get this show on the road. I mean, I'd been in labor for 30 hours at this point. How much more could I possibly have left?

I bet you can see where this story is headed. My doctor checked me again and just looked at me. I could read it in her face.

Me: Do you want to do a c-section?

Dr.: (nods very sympathetically). Erin, you're still only at 4 cm. Maybe 4 centimeters. You've been in labor for more than 24 hours, and this is as far as we've gotten. I think it would be best to go ahead with a c-section. I know that a c-section was never in your plan, but I think we need to do it, and I think we should do it now.

Me: (deep breath) Ok. If you think that's best, I trust your judgment. 

I had sort of mentally prepared for the fact that a c-section could happen, although I didn't think it terribly likely. So far in the process, I had been induced (not part of the plan) and told I needed a c-section (definitely not part of the plan). I guess I resigned myself to the fact that I had no control over the situation, and I needed to do what was best for Claire (and, though it sounds selfish, for me, as well). 

As soon as that brief conversation concluded, things kicked into high gear. People came out of the woodwork (found out that it was a slow night in Labor and Delivery so everyone wanted in on the action. Plus, Brad and I had interacted with a lot of the staff at this point. Maybe they felt that they knew us...?).

Nurses came in to prep me and hook/unhook me from stuff. Lights were flipped on and various things were moved around the room. They gave Brad a stack of scrubs and head/shoe coverings so that he could go into surgery with me. Finally. I needed him around, and apparently, hospital folks liked to separate us. Not ok, hospital. Not ok. Thanks for finally cooperating.

As these things were happening and my head was whirling with the speed and flurry of everything that was happening, another doctor came in and introduced himself to me. Another anesthesiologist. He explained that he was going to check me to see how effective the epidural had been. I tried to tell him that I knew it wasn't effective, but he still wanted to poke me with a small, sharp object.

He told me that he was going to start by poking me around my ribs where the epidural was never intended to numb. Then, he was going to continue poking around the parts of me that were supposed to be numb and wanted me to tell him if the subsequent pokes were the same in intensity as the one at my rib, if the pokes were duller, or if I felt nothing at all. My first few answers? I actually said that the pokes felt sharper. Brad pointed out that "sharper" wasn't one of my answer choices.

Oops. 

Not my fault that he didn't provide me with enough choices with which to answer. Also not my fault that it was baffling to him that my epidural (plus two boluses, plus multiple additional hits from my little pump) didn't work. I did, however, fully expect him to figure out a way to make something work so that I would be completely unaware of the major surgery happening to me in the next few minutes. I knew there was no way that they had ever encountered a patient that they couldn't numb up sufficiently for a c-section. 

I had lots of faith in their ability to shoot me up with enough medication to make the c-section happen. Technically, they did...just not the way I expected. Really, though, I should have expected the unexpected at this point, right?