**Disclaimer #2: You know how when you break up with someone and they use the line, "It's not you; it's me"? Well, don't consider this a break up post. Rather look at it as a, "It's not for you; it's for me" post. Meaning, it may be lengthy. It may be boring. But it's more for me to remind myself in the years to come just how crazy and out of whack I was. Take that as you may.
My apologies, but you may look at these lyrics quite differently after reading this post:
I Fell Into A Burning Ring Of Fire
I Went Down, Down, Down
And The Flames Went Higher
And It Burns, Burns, Burns
The Ring Of Fire
The Ring Of Fire
The Taste Of Love Is Sweet
When Hearts Like Ours Meet
I Fell For You Like A Child
Oh,But The Fire Went Wild
I Went Down, Down, Down
And The Flames Went Higher
And It Burns, Burns, Burns
The Ring Of Fire
The Ring Of Fire
The Taste Of Love Is Sweet
When Hearts Like Ours Meet
I Fell For You Like A Child
Oh,But The Fire Went Wild
Many of you know that for the last 11 and some days I've been trying to patiently wait for this little Man to join our family. Well, I'm happy to say that the wait is finally over! I'd love to say it was virtually painless. In fact, had it not been for the last 24 hours of the story, I really could have said that!
This pregnancy was by far my easiest. It went quickly, there were zero issues and even less worries. The only downfall was passing my due date not once- but twice. I considered myself lucky to count that as my only vice.
For many people, I was insane and crazy for not being induced and for waiting well past my suggested delivery date. I had my reasons. Reasons I won't get into right now. That's a whole other post.
Suffice it to say, with one induced labor and one c-section I knew in my heart that this one was going to be different. I needed it to be. Both of my two pregnancies before had all three of my babies spending time in the NICU, health issues (though minor) and worst of all- leaving me with a very poor milk supply. Right after the twins were born I was convinced something was wrong with ME and all of the steroids, pills and organic substances were not helping me make the milk I needed to feed my littles. So when the (4th) Lactation Consultant mentioned that my body had truly never "experienced real labor" and many times that can effect milk production, I started seeing it in another way. I started to view labor as helpful. Necessary almost (say what!?) And that brings us to 11 days overdue, 10:30 pm and so far- no steady contractions at all.
All day Thursday I felt like it was the perfect day for Cash to come. It had been raining (I was hoping for the wives' tale of rainstorms bringing on labor) and it was the only day in a row of 4 family birthdays that wasn't taken. I was convinced it would happen then. Of course, that only solidified the fact that it wouldn't.
Well- not close enough anyway. That evening, after putting the kids to bed, Miriam and I sat down to watch a movie. I was so excited to have something take my mind off of my sad (no birth) day and just needed to zone out. Around 10:30, something outside startled the dog and he began to bark- Loud. That of course woke up kids and suddenly Ava was at her door crying hysterically. I got up from the recliner as fast as I could and tried to race up the stairs. I guess that act alone was enough because, once at the top of the stairs, my water broke. I decided that since it wasn't all of it, it was probably just a small leak and went about putting her back to bed.
Once back downstairs, I was flooded. I knew it wasn't just a leak. After waiting a few minutes to make sure that was all of it (Holy-Niagra-Falls-Bat-Man!) I jumped in the shower. I knew I had a little time, though possibly not much. I had Miriam text Chase (he was at a meeting), and I enjoyed my relaxing, warm shower. There were no contractions. I felt clean and didn't feel like an invalid who had lost all of their ability to hold in their bodily functions.
Once out of the shower, I noticed my phone. Maybe I should have touched base with my husband first- he cracked me up. For some reason I was super calm, and though this was our third pregnancy (fourth baby), he still was nervous and excited. I couldn't help but laugh at the various texts he had sent the whole 5 minutes I was in the shower-
Once he came home, I still hadn't had a single contraction. We decided to finish our movie, and try to head to bed. I figured the contractions would come and when they did, they'd happily wake me up and let me know it was time to move.
Around 12:45 I was famished. I knew that if labor were to start tonight, starting it on an empty stomach was probably not the smartest start I could get. I went out to the kitchen and made myself a piece of toast. As I did, I simply walked around the living room just kind of thinking about what lay ahead. After maybe 10 minutes, I started to feel some strong menstrual cramps. It occurred to me that this could just be the beginning and that it would probably be hours before I felt any real things happening. And that my friends were my famous last words of a fool. As soon as I finished the thought, I doubled over with my first very real contraction.
Whoa. It was a doosey. I couldn't stand erect and all of the breathing in the world kind of flew out the window with it. And just when I took note of the time and duration (a minute in length), another one hit. I was confused. I thought they were supposed to start out at an hour apart. Then work up to being one minute or so apart. Maybe it was just a fluke....Nope! Not a fluke. I realized with a stark realization as the third one hit, again a little over a minute apart.
The entire time I had been so concentrated on trying to listen to my body. To hear what it was trying to tell me. I knew I was made for this, that this is what my body was meant to do, but for some reason I couldn't grasp what it was trying to tell me and kept second guessing myself as to what to do when the time was right. It was like a (third) slap in the face! The minute the last one hit, I didn't need any more signs. I knew we had to go, and we had to go now.
I woke Chase up, shuffled around (in between three more contractions) to gather my belongings and we were out the door. On the short drive to the hospital, I had 4 more. Luckily it felt like every other contraction wasn't as bad as the others and gave me just the tiniest bit of hope.
When I had gone into my doctor's appointment on Wednesday, they checked me at a 4+. I knew it was progress, but was a little discouraged that it wasn't a lot. That's still quite far from transition (an 8) or from labor (a 10). On the drive there, I was convinced that this many contractions this close together just HAD to put me close to an 8. I was ready to puke any second and once again was convinced that this indeed was my body settling into transition.
We pulled into the labor and delivery parking lot at 2:00 am. I remember because I was trying to time the contractions and as we pulled up, I said heck with it and just rolled out of the truck. I had 4 more contractions from the parking lot to the triage room and was ready to get this taken care of. The nurses were soft spoken, patient and encouraging. I felt horrible because I would have loved to be nice to them, but I couldn't even open my eyes. The pain was coming and it was so quick and abrupt I couldn't focus on anything else.
That's when the nurse suggested she check my cervix and see how far I was dilated. In my head and in between contractions I began to chant, "8,8,8,8! Please let it be at least an 8." She pulled back, had the sweetest smile on her face and proudly pronounced, "I'd say you're at a good 5, maybe 5+". I may not have had any strength left to even say my name but somehow I managed to
They quietly suggested I get up and walk the 30 feet over to a delivery room where I'd (so they say) be more comfortable. I had two more contractions on the way into the room and a few more as they tried to finish asking me questions and hook up an IV.
Soon, it became quite clear that I couldn't even answer their questions with the lack of space in between each contraction. That's when the first nurse (bless her) suggested that maybe she check again just in case to see if I had progressed any. A few more came in, spouting something about an epidural (clearly they were well aware by now of my lack of pain tolerance and knew that without it, it would be a long night for all of us). I cried a little thinking of how far I still had to go. I knew if I was only at a 5 and needed to do this even for one hour (let alone 5!) I couldn't. I would have to give in and get the epidural- something I so badly didn't want to do from the beginning.
And that's when I heard it. The first nurse (maybe I should have concentrated more on names) excitedly exclaimed, "Oh my! You're at a solid 8." Hallelujah. Praise the Lord. After that it was a lot of noise. Nurses bringing in the bassinet, two or three prepping the table. Someone once again mentioning an epidural but waiting patiently until the next contraction passed. My husband's eyes growing big and a little helpless, someone calling the doctor and another mentioning the time. Had it only been 20 minutes since the first dilation check? How is that possible?
For the first time all night I felt a small wave of peace. I knew I was progressing and finally, my body was doing what it needed to. The contractions were still so hard and so fast. I couldn't do much but scream (why in the world does that make me feel so much better?) through each one. Well that and say, "NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!" Don't know why it helped, but it did.
After a few minutes that felt like days, Dr. Lunt walked in. He came right to me and focused on my face (I had the feeling he'd done this once or twice before). He waited patiently, holding my hand while I finished the last contraction, clearly wearing down with each one and less than 30 seconds in between to relax. He once again mentioned the epidural, talked about my choices and how with a VBAC they strongly suggest having one just in case. I once again began to doubt and wouldn't you know it, with the next contraction my fate was sealed.
I needed to push. No need wasn't the right word. I was going to push. I said it out loud (ok, maybe yelled it to the world) and knew that was what my body needed to do. That seemed to put a rush on things. The minute he walked around and put my feet in the stirrups, all of the talk about epidurals was gone.
The next 30 minutes were honestly a blurr. I couldn't tell you every detail because honestly, I don't remember and the parts that I do remember were so horrific I don't want to even put them into words. It wasn't anything like you see in the movies for me. I know the wonderful staff and the doctor were trying so hard to have me bare down and push a certain way, but my body was screaming. Apparently my body wasn't the only one screaming because soon after that I had the worst sore throat. But somehow laying down with my feet in the air and trying to push seemed like the wrong way to go about it. My body wanted to get up. Get up and move. Or squat or even curl up. Anything but lay there. They kept telling me to push with my tush and not my legs. I couldn't really tell you what I was doing, but it felt like my entire insides were exploding and keeping my legs still was NOT an option for me. Now I look back and wonder if I looked like a kicking mule someone was trying to shoe.
After a few (what I felt like were ineffective) pushes, I began to feel a wicked heat. A burn if you will. A burn so bad that I couldn't focus on anything anyone was saying, on where I was, on what was actually happening. All of the breathing classes and practice in the world couldn't prepare me for this type of pain.
And that's when the only thing in my empty brain at the moment were the lyrics to the Johnny Cash song, "Burning Ring of Fire". I screamed, I cried. I may have shouted out some profanities (though I don't think I did. I'm just saying if there was ever a time to use them in my life, this was it!) I do remember yelling screaming at the doctor to "Get him out! Get him out!" That and, "Please make it stop! Please!!" There was some talk about only one more push (like I believe that!) and talk of seeing the head with lots of hair (how can they all just stand around and smile about it when I can't stop this pain!?)
Keep in mind all three of my previous babies were whisked away into the NICU. Not one did I ever get to hold. Or smell. Or kiss. Or nurse. Gone. Spending the night in a dark hospital room without the baby(babies) you went through it for is torture. Pure torture. Couple that with the fact that tied up to all of those cords and monitors, they feed the baby intravenously for you. That means the first time I even got to nurse one of my first three it was more than 14 hours after his birth. For him, nursing wasn't important and thus began one of the most frustrating times in a new mom's life.
So as I laid there, with a brand new babe not only in my arms, but starting to nurse- it was all painfully (still, quite painfully) clear as to why this needed to happen like this for me. And for him. Because in the end, it's all for him. I wish I was wiser before and could have made it happen like this for all of them, but in the end, it's experience that is the greatest teacher.
Oh- and if you're wondering, YES, Chase did order a brand new knife to carry on the tradition we've had now for four kids. Cash has his very first knife, complete with his own umbilical cord cerimonial cutting.
If you were unaware of just how weird this is, you can find our first offense of it here: http://theshilligchronicles.blogspot.com/2009_10_01_archive.html
and second (and third) here: http://theshilligchronicles.blogspot.com/2011/02/doubly-blessed.html
And now, if you've read this to the very end, you're either quite demented, bored, or (what I like to think), you're the best kind of friend.
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