Little Prince's Birth Story - Part 3
I’m back to share more of the story of Little Prince’s
birth. Life in the Corner Table House has always been busy and really, once you
have a couple kids it’s pretty much impossible not to be busy all the time.
Still, when I look at my schedule lately even I am shocked by just how much
there is on that. Hopefully once Little Sister’s wedding is past (less than 2
weeks now!) my schedule and my days won’t seem quite so jam packed. In any
case, as I said when I started, I’m back with more about Little Prince.
Before I continue I just want to say that there are
some parts, some descriptions and portions of the story in this segment (and
the next one too) that are sort of graphic. I’ve tried not to be too, too graphic but in some cases a bit of specific description is simply
necessary. So, while I can’t say I’m sorry for the way I’ve chosen to share
certain aspects, I will apologize if the amount of detail offends. Now, to
continue…
After the decision to induce labor using Oxytocin was
made, the drug was quickly ordered and a nurse arrived to insert an IV in my
hand. Well – she tried. She couldn’t quite manage it but she tried. And then
another nurse came and tried. Twice but she too failed. I’ll admit I’ve been
told once or twice in the past (about the only times I’ve ever had to have an
IV) that it’s difficult to tap into my veins, and I did mention this to the
nurses but they didn’t really seem to believe me. Until about then that is.
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| Vein Finder. Photo from - https://www.gethow.org/afraid-needles-vein-finder-will-help |
Because they were having such difficulty getting a
vein, they called in an ICU nurse with a Vein Finder – a really cool piece of
tech that lit up a square of my arm and displayed all the veins running under
the skin as if backlit or under a black light. That nurse, even with her Vein
Finder, still couldn’t get a vein and, since my arms were already beginning to
turn black and blue with bruising, the head nurse from the ICU was summoned.
She finally managed to get the IV in, a drip of Oxytocin was started and just
as it was meant to do, labor began to progress accordingly.
Three and a half hours later I felt ready to push but
upon inspection, the baby wasn’t quite in the right position – it was still
somewhat higher in the cervix then needed and was seemingly being held back by
an unbroken sac and a great deal of amniotic fluid, or what the nurses called a
‘bulging membrane.’ Throughout all this I was doing rather well with pain
management and by that point I was honestly just ready to have the baby
already. So as with each of my previous deliveries, the OB and two delivery
nurses prepared to break my water with a small prick to the membrane.
And that was, pretty much, the precise moment when
everything seemed to go to shit.
As I said, in all my deliveries my waters were broken
by the OB (using an innocuous looking tool, not unlike a crochet hook), so the
sensation and typical outcome were ones I knew what to expect. I felt the
anticipated ‘pop’ sensation as the membrane was punctured and immediately
following was a moment of relief as the water started to drain – sort of like
when you’ve had to go pee for a really long time and you’ve been holding it and
holding it, cursing yourself for drinking that last bottle of water (or
whatever) and then finally you get to the toilet, sit down and let go. You
know, that “aaahhhhhhh” moment. This
relief lasted only a moment however.
Have you ever watched a dog running on one of those
extendable leashes? It runs around moving closer and further away from its
human, testing just how far it can go, until suddenly something catches its eye
and it bolts full speed ahead. It runs and runs and then is jerked back hard as
the leash hits its full extension. I’ve seen dogs jerked up on to their back legs
and all the way over on to their backs. I’ve always thought that it must
startle them nearly as much as it must hurt them when it happens.
After that first brief moment of relief it was like
something inside of me was that dog running full tilt and being jerked back
when it reaches the end of the leash. Pain that had been manageable to then
increased 10-fold in a flash, stealing my breath with the intensity. At the
same time, I was aware that the liquid escaping me just kept flowing, far more
than I’ve ever previously experienced. In just seconds I felt it soak the
bedding under me to my feet and up my back to my shoulders. I heard the
splashes of it hitting the floor around my bed.
And I knew that was wrong.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that what was
happening wasn’t right but I was, in that moment, completely focused on the
pain. I was focused on trying to continue to breathe, not to “breathe through
the pain” as I had been, but just to
breathe because the pain was suddenly so intense that I couldn’t. I was
focused on trying to keep my composure and on trying to keep calm, or as calm
as I could possibly be in the circumstances. And I was focused on not letting
the screams that were building inside my head to burst out of my mouth. Because
while my labor and delivery had obviously not been going precisely as I’d
hoped, or expected, wanted, or planned, I had been handling it well. But
suddenly I was terrified for me and for my baby.
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