Monday, 18 June 2012

William Thomas (The Goose)

I have four unfinished posts from October last year claiming that I was back in the blogging game.  The first one is actually not too bad.  It's the story of Williams birth, so I've decided to give it to you now.  I couldn't let so much writing just go to waste.

I love Williams birth story.  I love everything about William.  He has me wrapped around his little finger.  But this isn't a post about how wonderful William is... this is a post about how he came in to this world.  Here it is.




There was lots of complaining about pregnancy.  And then there was some more complaining.  I waited.  I went full term.  And I got impatient.  My OB and I scheduled an induction for 9am Sunday 9th October 2011.  I hoped (but didn't hold my breath) that I would go into labour before then.

My lesson to be learned from this baby is DEFINITELY Patience.

I really feel as though this isn't a real birth story.  Every woman has her own war story.  I'll admit that I love to tell my own stories.  But this one really should just go:  "I hurt.  And then I had a baby."  There's not much more to it.  Really.

Just to show that I am not in charge of anything, I started going in to labour one hour before the scheduled induction.  8am Sunday morning.  I moved around the house, tying up a few loose ends, having breakfast and instructing Grandma on what Isabel should wear to church.  I figured if I got to the hospital as close to my appointment time as possible, then things would go a bit smoother.  So I wasn't really rushing.

On the way I told Dal not to worry about my grand gestures of foregoing an epidural.... if these pains were to get any worse, then I wanted (in no uncertain terms) an epidural.

Dal and I arrived at labour and delivery registration in time for the admitting officer to recognise that I was in significant enough pain for her to be duly worried.  A labour and delivery room was already set up for my scheduled induction, so in a small moment of mercy I was able to bypass triage.  In the small 45 minutes it took for me to get from my shower at home (when the pains started) to the labour and delivery room the pains had gone from "hmmm.... could this be real labour?" to "holy crap I want to shoot myself in the head... or where-ever it is that will stop the pain."

The nurses managed to convince me to lay down on the bed long enough for this exchange to go on:

Nurse1:  Ok... let's see how far along you are.  What?!  She's already an eight!
Nurse2:  Holy cow!  Are you serious?!
Nurse1:  You do know, dear, that you didn't have to wait until your appointment time to come in?
Me:  Of course.  My contractions didn't start until 8.
Nurse1:  Last night?
Deadpan Dal (I was having a body twisting contraction):  No, this morning.

Nurse1 looks at the both of us disbelievingly.  But the flurry of action that continued in the room took on a bit of a more urgent feel.  Repeated pleas to the anesthesiologist to come and give me an epidural were soon answered by a middle-aged man ambling in to my room with his cart of goodies.  He looked me in the eyes as he clearly explained the dangers of an epidural.  As my body became wracked with another contraction he called for my signature on the paper to say I understood.

The instructions were clear.  I needed to hunch my back long enough for him to get his needle in.  Unfortunately, it was physically impossible for me to be hunched while my body prepared itself to push the little man out.  When I was giving birth to Isabel I found the most comfortable position for me was on all fours.  I put myself in that position.  The anesthesiologist explained that he would try a lesser form of pain relief, but I would still need to be curled in the fetal position.  It just wasn't working.  The news that I wouldn't be able have any pain relief came at the same time I went from just contracting to contracting and feeling the urge to push.

Not a good time to tell a woman that she's going to have to weather the pain on her own.

I'm not one to suffer in silence, so there was much yelling and gnashing of teeth.  Dallas stayed in his usual position at the top of the bed.  I firmly believe that he would love if the hospitals went back to days of yore when the husbands just stayed out of the room, pacing the halls.  I love his presence there, but I know he is always uncomfortable.  I'd say watching the baby come out is an experience on a par with swimming with the sharks.  There is no way in hell he will ever do either.

Dallas made mention that there was a lot of noise with the last birth too.  No more than fifteen minutes of pushing and William Thomas Petersen entered this world.  I fell in love immediately.  He had hair and was perfectly perfect in every possible way.

2 comments:

The Kroks said...

Thank you for sharing! I love birth stories. I hope my labor can be as swift as that!

Gran Denny said...

OOOOwwww congratulations, how wonderful to see you blogging again and what a special story to tell. Now I can't wait for a photo please because I am one of the fifty people on the planet who can't bring themselves to have a facebook account so I've not seen any photos. Loves and kisses to you all.