Giving birth…not all sunshine and roses (or whatever flower you like)

I meant to do this earlier, but I’m sorry I’ve been away from this blog for this long.  I actually have a lot written down, I just need to actually type it up, so forgive me? :/  So here we go with my story, continued:
Leading up to the actual birth, I was fine.  Tired, hot (living in Florida, son born in July and pregnancy heat hit me around month 7….yeah), and very done with being pregnant.  Very done with my stomach touching my thighs when I sat down, done with the pregnancy clothing that still wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Now I was giving birth in a hospital and I’d seen the birthing room.  Really nice, as hospital rooms go.  The area around the bed was hospital sterile, but the room was big and the other end had a small amount of carpet, a table and chairs, and a little armoire with a TV and DVD player.  My husband packed several DVDs for me to enjoy while I lay there.  And checking in and all the fuss when I started having active contractions, that was pretty crazy.  My water hadn’t broken, and I really didn’t want them to have to break it.  So after I got into my gown, all the needles and things came out to play.  Saline, heart monitor on my bump (those things SUCK! I hate them, they’re uncomfortable, hot, and a protrusion on an already HUGE baby bump.), catheter, towel for when my water did break, and epidural.  I really hated the epidural.  I had to curve my spine to the point where I thought it would break, and with my baby bump in the way.  Oh, how that sucked.  So now I’m laying down, all hooked up, and feeling a little too boxed in, seeing as I can’t move much, and it happens.  I have a panic attack.
I’ve had them before.  Over the course of my life thus far, I’ve had maybe 5 or 6.  Not always at the most opportune of time, of course, but I can usually tell almost immediately the situation that’s causing me to panic.  In this case, I wasn’t certain why, but I recognized the symptoms.  My fingers began curling in like lobster claws and I start feeling tingly all over.  I tell my husband, he’s seen these before.  If I get really into it, then other parts start spasming or going numb.  Since I’m numb from the waist down from the epidural, I have no idea to this day if my legs were affected.  My face, however, most definitely was, and it might have been making up for my legs as well.  My face starts going numb and droopy and it’s getting hard to speak.  These are all signs of a stroke, which my grandmother had before she finally passed on.  So the anesthesiologist (spelling?) thought I was having a stroke, and kept talking to me, trying to get me to talk back.  He had me lay on my side.  I tried to talk back, but my panic attack was slowing my mouth down.  My husband then explains to the doctor about my panic attacks.  They then try to figure out what might have caused this.

Another upsetting factor was my doctor.  Now at the beginning of my pregnancy, my OB-GYN had three doctors (two male and one female) and two midwives.  That was the reason I chose this doctor.  I liked the midwives.  Over the course of my pregnancy, I was supposed to meet all five of these people.  One of the men I didn’t meet because of an emergency that called him out the office on my scheduled visit.  Also happening was the staff was shrinking.  By the time I had reached the 31 week mark, give or take, the two midwives had left for other practices.  And of course, being so late in my pregnancy and they knew all the info, it was too late to switch.  Also not a help was the fact that the maternity ward was full the day I went into labor.  There were two sets of twins, one set of which had one twin ready to greet the world and the other just chillin.  And that wasn’t the only complicated one.  So apparently, I was supposed to be an easy birth. *SNORT*

Fast forward slightly, I’m calmed down and can start pushing.  The nurse had me try several different positions, but my son wanted me on my back to deliver him.  Something else I learned about delivering a baby.  The actual doctor doesn’t really show up until the baby’s almost crowning.  Which means you could be pushing for quite awhile before the doctor actually shows up, since the baby doesn’t start out crowning, he/she has to get there first, aka the mommy pushing.  So at some point while I’m pushing, I notice the doctor standing in my room doorway, asking something along the lines of “She’s not ready, yet?”

Now I’m sorry, but WTF?  Excuse me, I’m the one delivering my first child.  I don’t care that I was supposed to be an easy birth.  I’m sorry I had a f#cking panic attack that may have delayed things slightly.  And I’m sorry the situation in the maternity ward in general is not optimum, but seriously?!  I wasn’t being fussy, I wasn’t being impossible, the nurses didn’t have to check on me more often than anyone else.  In short, I wasn’t being a Mommyzilla.  So if you could please dial down your annoyance and remember than while you may deliver many babies, this is my baby, so yeah, it’s kinda all about me, and you can just deal with it.  If the situation was that bad, maybe you should have had another doctor there to help you take care of everything.

So after a lot of pushing by me and two naps from him (yes, the munchkin decided that him crowning was a great time to take a snooze.  Apparently, the doctor said babies don’t sleep during that part.  Tell my son that.), my son is born.  A beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed soft little person whom I adore from the moment I see him.  Yeah, I didn’t think of the whole wrinkly skin thing, it didn’t matter.  My baby boy was perfect.


~ by phaerygurl on July 7, 2013.

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