News Update

Kami, my beloved sister, was complaining today that I hadn't blogged in nearly a week. As though what I wrote was actually interesting. We all know that reading blogs is just another way to avoid cleaning the toilet, but I thought I would humor her and write about Eli's birth since I've been meaning to do it forever.

Too bad for Kami, there isn't that much going on around here. Besides Timothy's new job. He starts Monday.

So, the Monday (the 8th of Dec.) that Eli was born was three weeks early by my due date calculation (from my period), and four weeks early from Dr. Swift's predicted due date (from the six week ultrasound). I woke up about 4:30 am and knew my water had broken. I tried to pretend it hadn't happened because I wasn't having any contractions and I was pretty sure at that point that I was having a c-section that day. For those of you unfamiliar with American medical regulations--they don't let you go past 24 hours of your water breaking without delivery. Since I'd had a previous C-section, pitocin was not an option. Laying there, knowing what was going on, pretty sure of the future of my day, I was a very, very, very angry girl.

I proceeded to do what any other bitter, angry, hormonal woman would do. I got out of bed, went downstairs and painted trim in Miriam's room. I hoped for a contraction or two but didn't have any (I think I had a grand total of three contractions the whole day). After painting trim I went back upstairs, muttered a lot, slammed around the kitchen (I'm a noisy angry person--used to drive my dad nuts when I slammed doors), packed a suitcase, woke up Timothy to tell him the rotten news. He pressed for details; I was snotty. I'm not sure what all I said, all I know is I was unpleasant. He stopped asking me anything.

The night before Timothy and I had sat down and outlined all the things we were going to get done that week. We'd prioritized, we'd written things down, I'd arranged babysitting so I could help. I can't begin to tell you how angry I was that morning. I called Lindsay Ann, who was going to come over that day and watch the kids while Timothy and I worked downstairs, and arranged to take my kids to her house instead. She asked me about how long she would have the kids, I snarled at her to call Mom and work out the details between them. Was I in any way gracious? No. Was I grateful? Not until later.

Timothy and I decided that he should stay and work on the house while I dropped the kids off and went to the hospital. I knew I would be there all day as there was no way I was letting them cut me open until the last possible second. There was no reason for Timothy to waste his time walking the halls with me when we both knew nothing was happening any time soon. The hospital staff expressed some surprise when I arrived alone to check in. I wasn't in the mood to explain. A nurse took me to some pre-admission room where they evaluate you to ascertain where you are in the labor game. You also have to tell the nurse your whole obstetric history. Like usual I wondered why in the world they can't just look up your chart on the computer. Is the Spanish Inquisition really necessary in our technology-savvy era?? Regardless, I told her my history, it took forever, and she kept calling me a "problem child." Yes, I already knew that.


Her opinion--I'd wind up with a c-section by the end of the night due to my absolute lack of contractions. I tried to remain, if not truly polite, at least civil. In retrospect, it might have been wise to have Timothy there. I watch my mouth a lot more when he's around--I worry about his good opinion.


The next eight hours I walked the halls trying to get some contractions going. Dr. Swift came and checked me once and tried to get me to schedule a c-section for that afternoon. I refused. After Dr. Swift left, I cried a lot. I was very hungry. I walked. I wanted to give my body every possible chance to kick into gear.


It never did. I called Timothy at 4:30 to tell him to come to the hospital. Dr. Swift was checking me again at 5:00 and would be scheduling the c-section. I was starving and angry and nowhere near resigned when 7:00 pm rolled around and I was prepped for surgery. One of the worst parts was that the nurse's kept talking about my getting an epidural. I explained that I hate epidurals and wanted a spinal like I had for Emeline's c-section. I even called Megan to find out the official name of what I had so I could sound intelligent when I talked to the anethetist. When we got in the operating room, the anethetist patted me on the head (literally and figuratively) and explained why what I wanted was a bad choice now but a good option "fifteen years ago." I do not deal well with patronising anethetists. My anger grew. Then a nurse asked me how I felt. I replied, "Like I'm about to have my belly slit open. How do you feel?" After a few more nasty comments from me, the small talk swirled around me instead of being directed to me. Thankfully. I know I should feel ashamed of my poor behavior. I do, a little bit. However, I think it is stupid to ask generic and chirpy questions to someone who is about to undergo surgery.

Timothy didn't say anything. He just held my hand. I wasn't so angry that I forgot to feel grateful for him and his ability to not say incredibly irritating things when silence is sufficient. Timothy is always perfect in the delivery room.

Dr. Swift came in and made a few jokes about Timothy and I not being very excited to have a baby. Then he started cutting and ignored me to chat with a nurse that he knew. That was good. I was having trouble breathing. Everything hurt. With Emeline, he cut me open and had Emeline out in about five minutes and I didn't feel anything, only the tiniest bit of pressure. The c-section itself was no big deal. It was only the recovery that was excruciating.

This time was different. I felt way more and the pressure really hurt. I felt like I was bread dough being roughly kneaded. Very unpleasant. I concentrated very hard on breathing regularly and holding onto Tim. No offense to my darling Eli, but when they showed me him, I wasn't that excited. I was still very bitter and very angry. I asked what color his hair was so the nurse took his little hat off. She said blonde, but Tim said, "It looks pretty red to me." I agreed with Timothy. Tim held Eli for a little while, but then the nurse took him away.

Everything else is a little fuzzy. At that point, Dr. Swift had started stitching me up (Megan informed me that they cut through seven layers--this is the kind of info I could do without, but she insists on sharing), and I was starting to hyperventilate. It really, really hurt. When I asked Dr. Swift why it was hurting, the anethetist, who was reading a magazine at a table-thing in the back of the room, came hustling over. He gave me something that nocked me out without actually putting me to sleep. I don't remember anything else until I was in the post-op room.

Megan told me later that the anethetist was an idiot and that he should have given me a spinal and that was what made the difference in pain/pressure levels during the two c-sections. All I know, is that for the next ones--I'm INSISTING on a spinal. Or insisting that Megan do all the anesthesia.

Not much else to tell. Timothy left shortly thereafter to get a good night's sleep so he could work on the house the next day. I held Eli and nursed him (he was Vacuum Boy from the very beginning), and dreaded the next few days. The anethetist kept me on morphine for that night, but by 2:00 am I was in lots of pain and I had a horrific headache and was nauseous and basically felt awful. The nurses called Dr. Swift and he told them to take me off morphine and put me on percoset (sp--that stuff is the best). After that, I felt a lot better.


Then I had to stand up for the first time.


Really, though, my recovery was way better than with Emeline. Totally unpleasant, incredibly painful, but not nearly as unpleasant or painful as with Emeline, and I started to feel better much quicker. I could bend easier, walk easier, sit up easier.

I am still a little bitter that all the rest of my kids will be delivered c-section.

However, Eli is beautiful, and so, like always, I'm amazed at how quickly it all starts to fade and I'm willing to entertain thoughts of doing it all again.

Despite Timothy bringing up the smell of burning flesh the few times I've brought it up.