Birth Story and Beyond

On Friday, September 28th I decided to get up, again. It was 2 in the morning, and the pesky Braxton-Hicks contractions that had awakened me about this same time the two previous nights had again made their appearance. These ones were a little stronger, and I made a mental note to talk to my midwife about it on Tuesday. I was tired, as contractions weren't the only thing keeping me up at nights. Addy had been having night terrors the whole week, and Brent and I were just exhausted.

Saturday morning I got up and just started crying thinking about how tired I was. This was not a common occurrence, and Brent was concerned. He decided to take Addy to his parents to continue working on the crib for the new baby. I went to the library and checked out helpful books on how to get your child to sleep through the night. I went home and got an interrupted nap (people kept calling me), but a nap it was, and I think it made a big difference for later events.

I got up after an hour and a half, frosted a cake to take to our Stake Relief Society dinner, and met my mom and sister Rachael to get a pedicure. It was my first time ever experiencing such luxury, and I enjoyed it to the fullest. I whimsically picked a metallic blue-green color for my toes, and the talented woman painting my toes also drew flowers on them. I was pleased, and kept my fingers crossed that my toes would still look cute when I went into labor and delivery. (As a side note, there are two more days before my "due" date, and my toes still look fabulous.) I went to the General Relief Society broadcast, came home, and persuaded Brent that we really needed to get baby gear. Although he was tired, we stayed up picking out a double stroller and a car seat from Amazon, which was due to arrive the following Thursday. Then we went to bed about 11:30.

We went to bed, but we didn't go to sleep. Almost as soon as I got into bed, contractions started, and these really hurt. Brent, totally exhausted, was not sympathetic. He kept telling me to quit moaning, that I was going to wake up Addy, that he was tired and he wanted to go to sleep. I tried walking; I tried drinking water; I even got into the shower. No such luck--the moaning continued. I thought the contractions were about 20 seconds long, but I asked Brent to time them anyway. We timed for just a half an hour, and the contractions were 45 to 60 seconds long (really!) and two to three minutes apart. I was confused. I had no "early labor" of which I was aware, so I didn't think this was the real thing. I had felt fine all through Saturday. I told him that I thought we should call the midwife and tell her what was going on with these "weird Braxton-Hicks." Brent didn't want to call--he said that they would just say to come in to get checked. Then we would spend an uncomfortable night in the hospital and come home in the morning, even more exhausted. I persuaded him that we should call anyway.

I tried calling her, but I just couldn't talk to her--the pain was intense. She told us to come in and Brent's eyes glared I-told-you-so. I called my mom and told her it was probably false labor, but could she come down and sleep here with Addy? She sounded excited, and I remember thinking that I hoped she would be just as excited the next time we called her.

We got to the hospital about 4 am. I moaned my way down the halls and got a check of my cervix. The nurse said, "Congratulations! You're at a 6!" A six? We were truly shocked, but from then on, Brent was TOTALLY sympathetic. He never would leave my side, even when things slowed down a bit.

We got into a labor and delivery room, and they asked if I wanted pain medication. Apparently I was experiencing back labor, which I think is pretty terrible. The contractions in the front didn't bother me as much, but the ones in the back were excruciating. The midwife was trying all sorts of comfort measures, and I remember her telling Brent to touch my back to feel our baby's head. Because of the back labor, I opted for an epidural at about 6 am. I got immediate relief on the right side--thank goodness! I could still feel everything on the left side, but with half the pain gone, I was okay with that. The medical staff was not okay, however, and we eventually got both sides to be numb. The midwife felt that it was important for us to sleep, since we were clearly sleep-deprived, both of us. They left us alone for a couple of hours, and we pretended to sleep. Really, who could sleep?

I'm fuzzy on the actual time, but I believe it was about 10:00 that my midwife thought it might be a good idea to break my waters. I was currently at an 8, and was okay with that idea. Things picked up from there, and I started pushing about 11:30. Our baby girl, Mari Elle, was born at 12:21 pm on Sunday, September 30th.

Mari made quite the entrance into the world. She decided at the last minute that elbows were important to get out first, and as a result, she tore through the vagina and one labia. No tears in the perineum, which is where most people tear, I think. Because the vagina is a vascular muscle, there was tons of bleeding. My midwife stitched me up for over an hour and a half, using seven sutures to boot (lengths of thread. I don't think they ever estimated how many stitches there were.)

After that, of course, was the fun part. Snuggling with a new baby girl, proudly showing her off to family, going through our name list, beaming as Addy fawned over the baby--good times. :) Recovery seemed slow, but definitely upon the horizon--that is, until Thursday evening. Things down south were definitely hurting, and the pain seemed to be increasing. I toughed it out until the following morning, when I finally called the midwife, who set me up with an appointment at their clinic at the U of U hospital. The midwife took one look, and grabbed a doctor for a consult. The doctor poked at me and the pain was very intense. She kept saying that she was using cotton swabs, but she was sure it felt like she was using steel wool. To me it felt like she was poking at me with dental instruments. The doctor called in a team of specialists, who decided that I needed surgery. They said they would let me know when they could squeeze me in.

In the meantime, someone noticed that Mari was a little jaundiced, and we got her bilirubin checked again. Unlike a couple of days ago when it was in the low teens, it had risen to a 19.7, which required phototherapy. The U of U hospital staff suggested we check her into Primary's, right next door. In retrospect, I don't think I would go that route again. We were trying to get them to release "home lights" to us so we could have her in the same hospital room as I was in. But because of red tape, we got her into Primary's, where they found that her bilirubin count had risen to 21. That fateful number meant that Mari was checked into the NICU and subjected to a multitude of what her parents considered to be unnecessary and painful tests "just to make sure" it wasn't something more daunting.

The surgeons at the U of U were unable to fit me in until 7 am on Saturday morning. I had the surgery, and it went well. I could tell an immediate difference because things no longer felt infected. Now I am still sore, but the pain is decreasing. Yay!

Mari is still at Primary's. (It's Monday morning as I'm writing this.) The doctors kept her over last night "just to be sure," which did not make us happy. She hates being here and we agree with her. We just want to take her home. The doctors will make rounds soon and I'm hoping for the good news of being able to take my girl home. Sorry for the long post, but I didn't bring my journal to the hospital and wanted to get it all down. You, the faithful reader, are now in the know.

Oh, because of all the above-mentioned, for the first time in my life I caught NOTHING of General Conference. I sure have a lot of catching up to do. :)