How strange to "schedule" your baby's birthday, but that's what we found ourselves doing. July 10 at 7:30 a.m. our baby girl was scheduled to arrive. That was a Tuesday. We were supposed to get to the hospital at 5:30 a.m., get all our paperwork straightened out, then walk myself into the operating room and lay down. Well, our baby girl had other plans!
On Friday, July 6, I was busy making the most of my last day of "work." This was the last day I was going to be a stay-at-home mom to an only child. Somehow this made me a little nervous, because my laboring with Levi began on my last day of work at my former job. Could it possibly happen again? Nooo... I mean, I had been experiencing a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions. Seems like my uterus didn't get the memo that it didn't need to practice laboring. That afternoon, while Levi was napping. I was working on my anniversary gift to Andy for our seventh anniversary. Each year I write a letter about our year and turn it into several digital scrapbook pages with pictures. Three typed pages later, I had finished my letter. Man what a year! We started with a one-year-old's birthday party, sold our house, bought a house, and did so much in between. Just reviewing it exhausted me! I ended the letter with "P.S. I won't be proofreading this year's letter because the longer I sit at the desk, the more Braxton Hicks contractions I get." I thought that sitting at the computer and reliving all the crazy events of the year was just making me a little uncomfortable, and as soon as I relaxed a little, the contractions would slow down. But instead, they started to get more uncomfortable. By the time Andy got home at 5:30, they were pretty much painful. At first, I didn't tell him anything was going on. Can we say "denial"??
Eventually I fessed up, and we decided to just keep an eye on things. Well, things started to pick up. I downloaded a contraction timer app on my Kindle Fire, and found that I was contracting for one minute at a time, every three to five minutes. Not only that, but they were becoming more and more painful. I had to stop each time and was losing the ability to talk through them. Uh oh. We put Levi to bed, probably one of the most emotional moments of the night. I read him a story about becoming a big brother and explained to him that we might not be there in the morning, but that Mommom would be and that we would be back. Deep breaths. At this point we call the doctor, she says we can wait an hour or we can come in now. I know that if we go in, we likely won't be leaving without having a baby. I spend a little time semi-freaking out about all the stuff I had planned for our last weekend. Our anniversary celebration. Time with Levi. Taking a bath in my brand new master bathroom. Finishing the last few things on my to-do list. Then the pain took over and I lost interest in freaking out. Andy grabbed my hospital bag packing list that I had already printed out and we began throwing stuff into a suitcase. Thank goodness I had already made that list. The contractions are starting to take over and each time, more and more expletives start flying out of my mouth. I tried to think of something more positive to say, but nope... I turned into a sailor. By the time Andy's sister arrived to stay with Levi, I was "vocalizing" quite loudly on the couch. One big contraction, then I felt this hard snap inside me. I stood up to get in the car, and my water breaks allllll over the floor. Yay for hardwood floors. I apologize to my sister-in-law for leaving her with a mess, and we get into the truck. (The other car is currently at the shop... one more thing that was on our to-do list for the lost weekend.)
On our way to the hospital, the contractions are absolutely miserable. I try making a few phone calls, but with each contraction I chuck the phone in Andy's general direction and try not to be too loud. We get there in record time and I drag myself into the waiting room with a towel between my legs. All dignity lost at this point. Another pregnant lady waiting to be checked in waves me onward ahead of her.
We explain to the nurse that we've already talked to our doctor, we were scheduled for a c-section Tuesday, and she cuts me off... "Why are you having a c-section? Do you want a VBAC?" Lady, now is not the time to question my judgement, I think to myself. All I wanted was for her to check my cervix for dilation because if I was already at 6 or 7 centimeters like I thought I must be, then maybe we'd talk to the doctor. She tries to check me, but apparently everything is still so high up, she can't even reach me. Not a good sign. She calls in another nurse who confirms that I'm barely dilated 2 centimeters. You have got to be kidding me. We talk with the doctor a little more and decide to proceed with our plan to have a c-section.
Meanwhile, I have turned into Wolverine during my contractions. Andy reminds me that my nails are very long. Apparently I've broken skin on his hand. I've also managed to scratch his face and nearly bit his arm. I also attempted to dislocate the thumb of the mean nurse. Oops. They give me some kind of narcotic to "relax" me. I still feel the pain, but I seem to have lost the ability to claw and curse. I think this drug is more for their benefit than for mine!
By 11:30, the operating room and my doctor are ready. I curl up over the edge of the table to receive my epidural and spinal injection. One more big contraction during the procedure (absolute torture to sit still through!) and then my legs start to get warm. They lay me down and things start to go numb. Ahhh, bliss. They continue with the preparation work, draping a curtain between my head and the rest of my body. They lay some sort of warming blow-up tent over my arms to keep me warm since the room is so cold. I have the anesthesiologist check me twice to be sure I'm really, really numb. (With Levi, my epidural wasn't a complete block on my pain and they knocked me out shortly after Levi was born.) I keep asking over and over when Andy will be let into the room, and finally he makes his way in. Just a few minutes later, they warn me that I will feel some big tugging and pressure as they pull the baby out. Sure enough, I feel like a weight is being lifted out of me. In these final moments of my pregnancy, I realize that I will know for sure very soon that I have a daughter. "Is it a girl?" I ask. Yes, it's a girl! The doctor invites Andy to peek over the curtain as she is being pulled out. Instead, he stands and just aims the camera. He actually got a picture of the baby being pulled from my body! She cries like a little goat, and Andy tells me she has dark brown hair. The doctor takes her and immediately brings her around the curtain so I can see her in her natural born state, before she's all cleaned up. For some reason, this moment is really important to me as I memorize the sight of her red, squirmy body. Wendy Harsany Simpson, welcome to the world. It's 12:18 a.m. and she weighs 7 pounds, 6 ounces. She is 20 inches long.
They take Wendy over to be checked out and I'm just elated to have been so aware and awake for her birth. I have told the anesthesiologist that I don't want any more medication that would relax me for the stitching up process. I want to be sure that I'm fully awake once I'm out of recovery and get ahold of Wendy. At this point I finally keep my eyes open. (They have been closed from the time I entered triage until the moment Wendy came out, pretty much.) I feel every tug and pull as the doctor stitches up each of my layers. I hear the nurses counting off the tools with each layer. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, ten. And so on. It doesn't seem to take very long to put me back together. I later learn that my uterus was so paper thin, that it tore perpendicularly from the cut that the doctor made, as she pulled the baby out. Knowing this bit of information makes me feel even more confident in the decision we made for a repeat c-section.
After I am finished with the surgery, they scoot me off the table onto another bed and wheel me into recovery. I basically twiddle my thumbs for the next hour, waiting and waiting with wide eyes until I can be reunited with Andy and Wendy. Finally it is time. They wheel my bed out of recovery, ram me into a wall on the way out (ouch) and get me to my room. Wendy is wheeled in on her little baby cart and placed into my arms. She's so soft and warm, like a little sleepy puppy. Her hair is so silky and her little feet are so wrinkly. I love her for what she is and for what she may become. I love her for being a little sister and for making me a mother of two. I love her for allowing me to see Andy as the father of a little girl. And most of all, I love her simply because she was once part of me and that thread will never be broken.
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