Warning: the following post gets into the gritty details. If you'd find it gross and/or awkward, feel free to skip ahead to the [[*]].
I went sans-epidural, because I've always kinda wanted to, and not only because the idea of that huge needle has always terrified me . . . Emmett's mom thought that was a cool idea; my mom thought I was nuts (she's gone both ways). There was a period where I did ponder changing my mind, but then I found the right breathing rhythm again, and I was okay for a while, and then it was too late, and then I was pushing, and then the whole thing was over thirty minutes after that. It was pretty difficult at the time, but already I'm looking back and thinking "it wasn't so bad" and "it didn't take that long" . . . I believe I was in active labor for six or seven hours, though early contractions had started at about midnight the night before (so, some 20 hours before he was actually born.) I ended up sleeping on my rocking chair pulled close to the bed, because it was more comfortable, and I was blessed to be able to drop right to sleep between contractions (which came about every 7 minutes). I actually kept falling asleep at the hospital, at one point waking up to answer the nurse's questions and literally falling deeply asleep again between each question. She didn't even notice until I told her . . . it was weird. I think of it as my "drug-induced coma," though I wasn't on any drugs to make me drowsy, except my own hormones. Every time I woke up it felt like I'd been practically not breathing, and I had to drag in a big gulp of air, as if coming up from underwater. It kept happening, though less frequently and with longer chances to sleep, for the next couple days. I'm still kind of noticing it when I wake up in the morning . . . I can wake up quickly when I hear Tobit fussing, but it's a bit of a climb to get to full consciousness. So I guess I'm sleeping both more deeply and more lightly? Or so it seems, anyway. . . .
Emmett was the most amazing labor coach and helper any husband could hope to be. He sang "Be Still My Soul" to me while I was trying to feel comfortable enough to sleep Thursday night, and once we were at the hospital (sometime around 11:30 am on Friday), he pushed on my legs, knees, back, shoulders, and whatever else I needed whenever a contraction came along. At first he let me know when his wrists and arms were getting tired, and I tried a few different things so he could take a break . . . but once things started getting bad, he was there every second without complaint, even though he had to apply more pressure, more often, for longer stretches, and half the time I was saying confusing and contradictory things about what I wanted. He would say encouraging things, and I would say "shhhhh . . . No, not you, that's for me . . ." because I was "shh-ing" through some of my contractions. At one point I wanted him to move the head of my bed up, but then it was too far / I changed my mind, so I asked him to lower it, and as he did, I said "stop stop stop stop stop stop stop--I know you've stopped, I just have to keep saying it . . ." My dad thought that was pretty funny. :P My mom and all the nurses were super impressed with how well we worked together. My dad made silly comments about how Emmett was working way too hard. ;) Which, indeed. he was almost as sore and shaky as I was by the end of the whole thing. He definitely didn't stand by and let me do all the work.
For the first while, I breathed long and slow, per the nurses' instructions. At the halfway point, that wasn't enough, and while I tried to keep my breathing slow and even, I couldn't help screaming on every exhale (at which point my mom says she was silently willing me to stop being stubborn and get an epidural). Then the doctor came in and checked on me, and advised that I add short, panting breaths to the peak of each contraction. That helped A LOT, and I was able to get through the rest of my contractions much more peacefully. When it got closer to labor, the nurse said I had to go to the bathroom if at all possible, and that got tricky, but again, Emmett was my strength and my support, and he helped me stand and walk and held me when contractions hit while I was trying to move, and overall helped me be peaceful through the whole ordeal.
The doctor broke my water at some point, to help move things along, which was truly a bizarre feeling. I could totally recognize the sensation of a water balloon not quite popping, but springing a leak that grows suddenly into a gush . . . it was an eerily familiar sensation, even though I'd definitely never felt it before. Quite strange.
The nurse checked my dilation at about 8:00 pm, and I was at an 8, but then maybe thirty seconds later I had a contraction that came with the need to bear down. The nurse was like, "Oh, are you feeling like you need to push now? Maybe I should check you again . . ." and I was fully dilated (finally!). Then things got interesting. The doctor came in with a new nurse and it seems like a handful of other people, though I wasn't entirely sure . . . the new nurse became what I thought of as my "drill sergeant." She was calm but loud and authoritative, and told me quickly but clearly exactly what was coming and what she wanted me to do. "You'll want to scream like all get out, but I want you to hold it in. Direct every ounce of energy into pushing. Hold your breath and push!" She would count to ten, then tell me to breath, then jump right back into pushing for another count of ten . . . lather, rinse, repeat, for as long as each contraction lasted. And between them, breathe those classic "hee, hee, hoooooo" breaths and do my very best to relax my muscles. Emmett breathed with me to keep me on track, which he says was very difficult. I had a hard time following him, but he definitely helped yet again.
They asked me if I'd like to touch Tobit's head as he was crowning, which I did, but I really couldn't feel anything that felt head-like to me . . . Emmett says I touched it, though. And later, as Tobit finally emerged (another distinctly bizarre sensation), they told me to look at my baby. I leaned forward as well as I could, and saw him squirming there, but only a small part of my brain could spare a moment for a vague "wow. . . ." Most of me was just relieved I was done pushing, and trying to catch my breath. My legs were shaking violently with shock.
I could just pay enough attention to hear the doctor directing Emmett to cut the cord, and then to say yes when they asked if I wanted to hold him on my chest right away. They helped me get him skin-to-skin, and I tried to calm my body and mind enough to actually pay attention to the squirmy, slimy little miracle snuggled on my chest. He had his eyes open right away, and even bobbed his head a bit. The nurse made a comment about how the baby could tell I was stressed (the doctor was still doing things like stitching me up, so the whole ordeal wasn't *quite* over yet), so I tried to calm both of us by singing a lullaby. Emmett told me (when I asked) that I sounded out of breath, and had to pause every couple of words, but that it was beautiful. And even still in tune. ;) I sang "Lavenders Blue," and I think a snippet of something else, but I forget what. I do remember thinking I didn't want to sing "Far Away Places" yet, because it's my favorite and I wanted to sing it when I could do a good job of it . . . (I sang it to him later that night, and both songs again and many others since).
He was born at 8:30 pm on September 12, 2014. He weighed 8 pounds 2 ounces, and measured at 19 inches (though at his first check-up the nurse measured him at 20 inches, and she says he probably didn't grow that much in a week, so they may have missed an inch on that first day . . .).
The nurses took him back to get him (and me) all cleaned up, and Emmett had a chance to hold him, and later I got to try breastfeeding him (which didn't really work that first try, but I got a few droplets onto his tongue, anyway . . .). And then we transferred to the recovery room, and visited with family, and checked that Emmett's mom was getting in safely from her last-minute flight, and rested, and ate food . . . it was funny how quickly I ate as soon as I was allowed to. My tummy didn't feel hungry, but pretty much as soon as I touched the juice or the sandwich or the grapes, etc. to my mouth, they were gone.
And the celebratory chocolate we brought for when I no longer had to worry about my gestational diabetes (Andes Mints for me, a Symphony bar for Emmett, and Ghirardelli chocolate squares for the nurses) tasted absolutely HEAVENLY. Seriously. Yum.
It's now been just over a week, and already things are starting to feel normal with the little guy around, and yet still absolutely amazing. He's so cute and precocious and happy. He already sleeps almost through the night, waking me up once in the wee hours, usually. Sometimes twice. The pediatrician this last Friday said he was super healthy and perfectly normal, and already he's an ounce above his birth weight, which is awesome. We've both gotten much better at the whole breastfeeding thing. He's rolled himself from tummy to side once, and once from tummy to back, and he's quite good at holding his head up, especially when he's hungry. He's also already past the point where he really likes being swaddled for the night. Kid's just growing up so fast . . . It's weird that he's barely over a week old. :D
Overall, the whole thing was a miracle. And not nearly as terrifying as it seems. Already, looking back, I'm okay with the idea of going through the whole thing again. Especially if it's true for me what people say: that the first one tends to be the hardest/longest labor. ;)
I love like crazy this sweet little soul, Tobit Alexander Raymond. And I love his father SO MUCH.
Life is amazing.
