Birth Story
The story starts eight weeks prior to the delivery of one MSB, when I first heard the words, "The baby is breech, but don't worry, there's still plenty of time for her to turn." As the weeks wore on, however, she didn't turn even once. She was comfortable exactly the way she was - head up, just above my belly button, with legs going straight up by her head. The outcome was clear: Maya would be delivered by a scheduled cesarean section on September 30, 2009.
The night before her birth Ryan and I decided to take ourselves and our Moms out for a final dinner. We drove over to our favorite Chinese restaurant, the one that had hosted our wedding rehearsal dinner almost twelve years ago. Alas, they were closed! It seemed like an ill omen, but we shook it off, and drove over to our favortie Thai restaurant instead. Dinner was great, and we left feeling satiated and ready for a short night's sleep.
Before we went to bed, Ryan and I spent half an hour together in the hot tub. The night was warm and clear, and we floated around, feeling MSB in the womb for the last time, staring at the moon and stars, and marveling at the fact that we were finally going to meet our baby in the morning. I was restless but not totally sleepless that night, waking up every hour as I'd been doing for the past few weeks. The four o'clock alarm was almost superfluous.
My Mom was awake to see us off - she said she was too excited not to, even though it was five in the morning. Ryan loaded in our bags, and we drove through wide, empty streets to the hospital. The world had that pre-dawn hush, as if it were also holding its breath in anticipation of the day's event. It was so early that we had to enter the hospital through the emergency room side. They made me sit in a wheel chair, even though I was perfectly capable of walking (what with not being in the throes of labor), and took us up to the Labor and Delivery ward.
In the course of an hour, I was interviewed, the baby was monitored one last time, and my IV was placed. Around 6:30am, my OB came by to see how things were going. I was prepped and ready, and even Ryan had placed his snazzy scrubs over his clothes. As soon as the operating room was ready, they wheeled me over, and began the real surgical prep. First came the spinal anesthesia - I sat on the edge of the operating table, leaning my head against my OB's chest and trying to hold perfectly still. It was over in moments, and shortly after I lied back down, my legs started feeling really warm. They tested my numbness by poking me at various points with a needle. I could still feel pressure but no pain. Next, they inserted the catheter, gave me a quick shave, and hooked me up to a monitor. I was a little disappointed to find out that they were using a Nellcor pulse oximeter instead of Masimo's, and facetiously gave the anesthesiologist some grief for it. My arms were extended on either side of me, supported but not strapped down, as I had requested. The IV and pulse ox were on the left, and a blood pressure monitor was on the right.
Pretty soon, the curtain went up, and Ryan came in and sat with me. Everything seemed to be moving too quickly, and I was nervous and really glad to have him there. He took my hand on my outstretched right arm, and I felt a lot calmer. The surgeons were discussing something mundane about coaching their kid's sports team for a while, and then suddenly I heard my OB comment on seeing the baby's butt. I felt some tugging and a little push, and then, "Come on out little girl". My heart stopped for just a second, and then I heard her cry. My doctor asked if I wanted to see her, and the answer was, "Of course!"
The curtain dropped a bit, and he held up a squirmy, shiny, little being. Our daughter. I teared up a bit as I saw her, unbelieving that she had really, finally arrived. I only got that short glimpse, and then the curtain went back up. Ryan let go of my hand and went over to watch her get cleaned up. My heart ached to see her - it was too tantalizing to hear her crying, but not be able to see or touch her. In the meantime, my body was getting beaten up by the nurses who were pushing out the placenta. That was a lot more uncomfortable of a feeling than when they took out the baby.
Eventually, Ryan came over with our swaddled little newborn. I could hardly believe she was real with her perfect little doll face. For a second I was afraid to touch her, but then I remembered that she's my baby, and I reached out to stroke her cheek. All I could think of to say was, "Hi." Her skin was deliciously soft, and I couldn't wait to hold her close, but all too soon she and Ryan left for the recovery room.
Shortly after that, things went a little downhill. I started feeling nauseous, like bile was trying to come up my throat. I breathed long and slow, telling myself not to throw up. I mentioned to the anesthesiologist who said it was normal and held a piece of menthol under my nose which helped a bit. I asked him if he could elevate my head, thinking that would also help with any acid trying to reflux its way up my throat. Eventually the nausea passed, but then I started shivering and trembling uncontrollably. I was assured that this was also a normal side effect of losing the placenta and a sudden shift in hormones.
Before I knew it, I was stitched up and getting wheeled over to recovery. I was still shaking uncontrollablly, too much to even hold the baby. After waiting ten minutes for the shakes to subside without success, they gave me a shot of demerol to help calm my body down. Finally, I was able to hold our baby for the first time. She was just perfect - tiny and beautiful - with dark blue eyes, little black lashes, and downy black hair. Our little girl had arrived.