Labor Day

So, what was it like? I'll try to dig deep in my memory bank and read my shorthand notes to relay what November 21, 2005 was like for me.

First, let me say that I had been dreading it since day one. I asked Leah several months ago if she was worried about the labor process. At the time, I think her response was something like, "Well, not really." But I was entirely different. I've always thought that labor would be a long, difficult, gut-wrenching, emotionally draining experience that would FINALLY end with the birth of your child. But getting there would be hell. Literally. Maybe it would surprise me and I'd come out saying something like, "Truth be told, it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be." As if. Leah's nerves were kicking in good on Sunday, and I think by Monday they had matched mine.

Leah got ZERO sleep Sunday night. Call it nerves, call it excitement, call it worry....call it everything in the book. But she never got to sleep. Strike one. We, I mean, I, was up at 3AM I think, trying to make absolutely sure that all bases were covered. We had instructions from the doctor's office to be there at 5 for induction to begin at 6. At 4:30 or so, we packed up and headed for the longest, but best, day of our life.

We approached the check-in point at about 4:45. The response we got was, "Well......uhh........you're kinda early. Your induction is scheduled for 6:00." We were like, "Yeah, but we were told to be here at 5." As it turns out, whatever dipstick filled out the form letter at the doctor's office shouldn't have put 5:00 on there, and Dr. Bannister took the letter and made sure that it wouldn't happen again to unsuspecting patients. We were told to have a seat in the waiting area, but luckily, there was staff coming on at 5:00 that could get things going. Otherwise, we would've been staring at the waiting room TV for an hour or driving the I-240 loop working off nervous energy. Below is a very loose log of the day's events. After about 4:00PM, it was all pain and suffering, on both Leah's part and mine. Without question, it was the hardest thing I'd ever have to endure. Maybe the next time around will be easier, because I don't think it can get much harder. Obviously the end result was glorious, but that day was the manifestation of all that I had dreaded since April 1, 2005.

5:30AM - IV started, Leah gets her wristbands put on. One for latex allergy, one for blood bank, one for patient ID, and one that matches a set for baby and dad.
6:00 - Pitocin added to IV. This kicks off the contractions, and the dosage is increased as the day goes on.
7:15 - Dr. Bannister comes in (What?!?! A doctor doing rounds at 7 AM? Who'd a thunk it?) and breaks the water. Leah's measurements are 3 cm/70%.
7:45 - Anesthesiologist comes in and asks anesthesia-type questions. This is in case Leah decides to have an epidural.
10:30 - Pitocin still going pretty good, Leah is handling contractions quite well, in my opinion. Measurements are 4.5-5 cm/70%
11:00 - Pain medication, which initially did some good, no longer seems to be doing squat. Leah says that she wants an epidural. "Are you sure?" Yep. At this point, I was sorry that she was hurting, but figured that this would fix things--That Leah would endure the pressure and discomfort, but that she'd be virtually pain-free until Nicholas's arrival. At least, that's how the "Legend of the Epidural" folklore usually goes. Our childbirth class instructor said something that made a ton of sense--"Pain is inevitable, but misery shouldn't be." I just knew that misery was off the table now. As it turned out, that was only a dream.
11:30 - The epidural lady comes in (the one that asked all the questions before), this time with this guy in tow. "Hi....this is so-an-so, and he's gonna be working with me today." It might as well been a dangling neon sign above his head, but his name tag had the word "Student" or "Trainee" on it. I'm thinking, "Great....The person to administer this, that has the potential side effects as severe, medically treated headache or paralysis, is a rookie. Just what I need. " Everything was OK, though....and Leah was a champ. Her blood pressure spiked a little, but it wasn't anything of major concern at that point.
12:45 - 5-6 cm and 90%.
1:55 - 6 cm and 100%. We're 4 cm away from pushing.
2:05 - Leah still having some pain, more than just the "You should just feel pressure." 8 cm.
2:15 - After having been nauseated, Leah gets sick. But keep in mind what is in her system at this point - ZILCH. So essentially, it's dry heaving and maybe spitting up some of this nasty liquid antacid that they give you periodically (to keep you from getting sick?!). Of course, I'm sure that it wasn't feeling too good on her abdominal muscles.
2:20 - 8 cm. Still having some pain.......Very uncomfortable, and hurting significantly.
2:45 - Leah gets an oxygen mask to make sure that she and Nicholas are getting enough. It's also noted that when Leah has a contraction, Nicholas's heart rate drops 20-30 bpm. Not sure what that's about. Leah gets a 2nd small IV dose of epidural drugs for her pain.
3:30 - 10 cm. We're home free--At least, that's what I thought. I'm thinking that the sight of my child is only a few minutes, or maybe an hour or so, away. I go tell the assembled family that she's about to start pushing. Dr. Bannister is called, and she informs nursing staff to give her 15 minute's notice (i.e., when the time comes) so that she can get there and catch Nicholas.
4:00 - Pushing seems to be doing little good, and I'm starting to wonder how long this is gonna last. The sit Leah up in bed, and tell her that maybe gravity would do some good. Little did we know that gravity had apparently taken a personal holiday, or was overbooked at a skydiving exhibition.
4:15 - Leah gets sick again. See also 2:15pm.
4:30 - I decide to go let the family know that it might be awhile. While I'm walking down the hall, I know that the second they see my face, they'll assume that the news they've been waiting for is here. But I have to pop their proverbial balloon, and convey to them what a tough time that Leah, and I, are having. I tried to be the strong one and hold it together, but my pain for Leah starts to leak out through my eyes. I just don't want her to give up.
5:00 - Still pushing, same results. Nothing. During and after some of the pushing episodes, Leah says, "I can't do this anymore....I can't.....I just can't do this." My heart is breaking into a million pieces. Guys are supposed to fix stuff. I wish that I could take away a small part of her pain. She's tired, in pain, and ready for it to be over. That, coupled with the lack of progress, have me thinking C-section. Anything. I'm ready to see our son, but it seems like we've got to go to hell and back to do it.
5:10 - They call Dr. Bannister. She's in the middle of a delivery at Methodist Germantown, and will be here after that. My first thought--She has to navigate one of the busiest corridors in the city in 5:00 traffic. I really don't know what the end result will be, but I'm hanging to the hope that her arrival will bring some concrete assessment to the situation. Just fix it, Dr. B....Make my wife stop hurting.
6:00 - Dr. Bannister arrives and says that she feels that pushing would no longer be beneficial to Leah or Nicholas. In short, it's apparently not working and thus other measures are probably needed. It's either forceps or c-section.
6:05 - the forceps go on rather easily. At next contraction, Dr. B will help Nicholas along.
6:10 - I see most of Nicholas's hair-filled head. Dr. Bannister also unwraps his cord from around Nicholas's neck. In this overwhelming rush of emotion, I try to as quickly and emphatically as possible tell Leah that it's almost over. "We're there, honey....We're there!! I can see him! We're almost done!".
6:14 - Nicholas arrives. In a tear-filled voice that I literally couldn't control, I tell Leah that I can see him, he's beautiful, and that she did awesome. She really, really did.

In short--without question, the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I still don't know if the epidural was wearing off, or Leah's pain was off the charts, or the dosage wasn't enough, or what. But all I know is that seeing her in that much pain, without anything to do or say except for the rehearsed, broken-record, "You can do it!" was the most helpless feeling in the world. She says that it was absolutely worth it, and she'd do it again. Me, well, I'm just hoping for a smoother ride next time. Maybe the maternal bond between child and mother is a reward for enduring 9 months and several hours of pain, discomfort, inconvenience, etc. I don't know if it was very effective, but I tried my absolute best to be optimistic and encourage Leah every step of the way that day. At times, I felt like it was monotonous. But one thing's for sure--I couldn't be more proud, not only of our beautiful child, but of how his mother did.