Houston, We Have Baby
This post is going to be LOOOOOOOONG, and possibly TMI in places, so brace yourselves. Also, making this one public so my non- LJ-using friends and family can get the full scoop.
Went into pre/early labor (as y'all know from my previous postings) on Sunday March 11th. Tuesday night, around 9:30 pm, contractions started picking up, and by 4 am, they were 5 minutes apart, and rather intense. Went into Labor & Delivery at UNC Women's Hospital by 7:30 am, was in Triage by 8, and then told I'd made no progress. My blood pressure was high, though, so the OB resident (Dr. Ritter) ordered some blood work and sent us downstairs to walk around the lobby until the results came back. It was NOT exactly a fun time, as I was experiencing back labor. (It's hard to describe, so running the term through Google might be your best bet.) The blood work came back clean, so they sent us home.
Walked circles around the yard until I wore a new path in the grass (not really, but pretty close) while my parents and John did some cleaning, in hopes that I'd be able to progress SOMEHOW. Started having more painful contractions before midnight, crawled into the bathtub to try and labor in hot water around 2 am, called John to come help me get out of the tub when I couldn't talk through contractions anymore. Went back to L&D at 5:30 am, STILL hadn't progressed enough to be admitted. At this point, I had not slept since Tuesday around 3 am, so I had a mini-meltdown, knowing I wouldn't get any more sleep until I had some sort of pain relief or the baby was delivered, whichever came first. The docs on duty made the decision then to admit me for something they call "therapeutic rest." Essentially, they want moms-to-be to be well rested and ready to go once they DO go into active labor (I was in a limbo stage somewhere between pre- and early labor), because that takes the most energy to get through. So, they stick you in a labor and delivery room, give you a cocktail of drugs, and hope it knocks you out for long enough to a) get some good sleep, and b) possibly progress in labor to a point where they can keep you until the baby arrives.
Here's where things get a little dicey: Some of you may be aware that there have been whispers of a pharmaceutical supply shortage since about mid-last year. I can tell you first hand, it's no rumor. Not only are things like Adderall becoming scarce, thanks to the DEA not updating their standards since right after 9-11-01, but so are things like Phenagren and Zofran. Those are anti-nausea drugs that are safe for pregnant women, and one-third of the drug cocktail required for "therapeutic rest." As such, I had to wait an extra hour and a half for my meds, and it was NOT PLEASANT. -_- (Keep this bit of information in mind, as it will be important later, too.)
FINALLY got my shots and pills, and managed to sleep for a little while. Two hours, I think, then lunch was delivered. Conked out again after that, and woke up at 5 pm because the drugs wore off. My contractions were still painful, but I STILL hadn't progressed! At that point, my blood pressure had been consistently BAD, and the docs decided to induce. Now, at UNC Women's Hospital, the default for the start of an induction is the use of a Foley bulb catheter as the default method, rather than with any sort of pill or IV drug. Most people don't know what that is until they're told it's the same kind of catheter that's used to help people use the bathroom when they're laid up. They just install it in the cervix instead of the urethra, and use it to try and get the cervix to dilate from 0 to 3 cm. The plan was set: Install the bulb, move me to a different ward for 12 hours to free up a L&D room, and go from there in the morning.
Well, my body had other plans.
An hour later, John helped me to the restroom. The bulb popped out, and a gush of bright red blood after that. He called for a nurse, and as soon as he hung up, a contraction so painful hit me that I literally SCREAMED AT HIM to "shut the fuck up!" when he cracked a joke. The nurse arrived, removed the bulb apparatus attached to my leg, cleaned me up, and got me back in bed before calling the OB. (In this case, not the resident, Dr. Ritter, who wanted to send me home again earlier that morning, but the attending, Dr. Carlo and another resident, Dr. Parks. Both very good people.) Dr. Parks had installed the bulb, so he came in to check to see if he'd done something wrong during the process, and holy cow was the look on his face priceless as he said, "It didn't malfunction. . .it fell out because you're at 3 cm already." Leslie, my nurse for that shift, added, "I've never heard of a Foley working that fast. Ever."
Needless to say, I wasn't going anywhere. Dr. Parks convinced me to hold off on the epidural to try and walk around the ward to attempt more progression, so the nurse shot me full of morphine so I'd at least not care how much things hurt.
Yeah. . .that didn't really work out so well. Right after she pulled the syringe out of my IV and left, I was hit with another contraction so painful that I couldn't breathe. John called the nurse back and explained there was no way in hell I'd make it through any of this without an epidural. The time after John got me back to bed is a bit blurry, but I remember the anesthesiologist, Dr. Britton, coming in and discussing the epidural process. A short time later, she came back with the equipment, and her attending (I think that's who he was, though I can't remember his name) and started working on my back. The first epidural didn't take, so they had to do it again, only slightly higher up on my back. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but once the meds started working, I really didn't care anymore.
That is, until it stopped working on my right side about 3 hours later.
After that point, each does of meds was less and less effective, and the contractions from when they started Pitocin (that's a drug meant to help labor progress along, for those who are unfamiliar) right after the epidural went in were so painful, it's a miracle I was as calm and as patient as I was. 24 hours of active labor later, I'd been stuck at 9 cm dilated for 5-6 hours, and the Frodogeek had decided to turn sideways on his way toward the exit. Only THEN did any of the doctors bring up the possibility of a cesarean section. Personally, while I appreciate Dr. Carlo having the policy of not wanting to perform unnecessary medical interventions, when your patient is in such pain that she can't think clearly, and is sobbing every time the epidural wears off ON JUST ONE SIDE OF HER BODY (which indicates that someone screwed it up when they put it in, but that's neither here or there at this point), it's time to throw that policy out the window. In my opinion, a c-section should have happened as soon as it was discovered that my baby had turned sideways. (Which, oddly enough, they would have seen if they had performed an ultrasound at any point while I was there, but they did not. I found that to be very strange, but at the time, I wasn't really in a state of mind to question it.)
So, Dr. Britton and her colleagues came back in to talk about pain management for the surgery, and it was decided the only way to ensure the epidural wouldn't wear off while they had me open was to remove the existing catheter, and insert a new one, then add a spinal block (similar to an epidural, but administered somewhat differently) below that. While I was NOT HAPPY with the idea of having them stick even more needs in my back, I didn't want to be knocked out for the surgery, so I agreed.
Mom, Dad, and John packed up all our things while we were waiting for the operating OB and her team to get prepped, since we would be moved to the maternity ward as soon as I made it out of recovery following the procedure. Then a nurse I didn't like very much (Leigh, I believe her name was) came back with a zip-front polyvinyl suit, booties, and hairnet for John, and told him to go ahead and get ready, so he could be brought back to the surgical suite as soon as they had finished prepping me for surgery. Shortly thereafter, they wheeled me out of the ward and toward surgery, and John got escorted to one waiting room while my parents and all our stuff (which, honestly, wasn't all that much, no matter how much my dad complained otherwise) were put in a different one.
It took 3 people to help me move from one gurney to another, and then a new nurse, Sarah, had me sit facing her while the anesthesiologists started working on my back. Now, remember I mentioned that drug shortage earlier? This is where it REALLY came back to bite us all in the ass, because with no Phenagren or Zofran available, there was nothing to keep me from vomiting as soon as the anethesia took effect. One moment, I was fine, the next moment, I heard myself saying, "I'm about to throw up all over Sarah. Someone better get me a bucket. . ." and I upchucked something vile and green 3 times. Then I nearly tipped straight off the damn gurney. It took 5 people to keep me from falling, and then lay me out for the main event. Things got very scary for me right about then, as it is a little known fact that people who go in for these sorts of surgeries are strapped down to keep from flailing about if the meds wear off early. I knew this going in, and it still made me very, very nervous, especially since John wasn't there yet. The curtain that blocked my sightline to the surgery went up, and it was less than 3 inches from my nose, and THEN I found that it felt like I couldn't take a full breath. The drugs were working TOO well, as even though according to all the machine readings, I was breathing normally, it certainly didn't feel like it. I needed to cough to get more of the green muck out of my throat, and I couldn't, because it felt like I wasn't getting enough air, and that my diaphragm wasn't responding. Dr. Britton assured me there was nothing to worry about, but didn't actually DO anything about my problem. Granted, there might not have been anything she could actually do, but she could have at least told me that.
After what felt like forever, John was FINALLY brought in, and he sat next to my head. Naturally, it was then that I started throwing up again, and Dr. Britton had him hold the bucket and the suction tube to free up her hands to keep track of the anethesia and the machine readouts. Again, I said it felt like I couldn't breathe, and this time, I told them to get the damn curtain out of my face because it felt like it was right on top of me. The former, they did nothing about; the latter, they remedied quickly. By then, they had already cut me open, but I had no idea. John just kept tending to my upchucking, and I saw him stand up when the surgeon said, "Got his head out!" (Incidentally, it was shortly after that one of the docs shouted, "Sit down!" and John dropped back into his chair. This, however, did not stop him from taking peeks over the divider to see how things were going from then on out. And yes, somehow, I managed NOT to maim him for doing that once I had control of my limbs again.)
Not long afterward, I saw the NICU crew go into a flurry of activity, and I realized it was because the baby was no longer inside me, but actually outside. Then he cried, and I swear to you, the first words I said were, "He sounds like a little pterodactyl." To this, John responded, "Awwwww, we have a little pterodactyl, honey."
At this point, I felt some tugging coming from my abdomen, and one of the surgeon's say, "Ha, 14-1/2 inch incision. Told you I could get it under 15; pay up!" Normally, I would have laughed, but I vomited instead. Not because they were making jokes, but because it was only really the briefest of pauses between bouts of sickness the entire time I was in there. Dr. Britton's assistant took over cleaning up the mess so that John could hold the baby, and Dr. Britton took John's phone and snapped a few photos for us. Finally, he brought the baby down to my level so I could see him, and he really was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
The NICU team said the Frodogeek was fine, despite there being meconium in the amniotic fluid, but needed to take him back so they could perform their tests and give him his first shots. John looked at me, and before he could even ask, I croaked out, "Go. Just go." And he did.
Once they finished sewing me up, they moved me back onto a different gurney, and rolled me out to recovery. It wasn't until John brought our son to the area beside my bed that he finally asked, "So, do you think he's a Noah, or a Dresden?"
Without much extra thought, I said, "Dresden. Definitely a Dresden."
"Dresden Nicholas it is, then."
Dresden Nicholas d'Adesky was born at 10:21 pm on Friday, March 16th, 2012, at 9 pounds, 5 ounces, 21-1/2 inches long, and with a full head of John's dirty blond hair.
3 Days Old
4 Days Old (trying to eat John's nose)
7 Days Old, Doctor's Waiting Room
Went into pre/early labor (as y'all know from my previous postings) on Sunday March 11th. Tuesday night, around 9:30 pm, contractions started picking up, and by 4 am, they were 5 minutes apart, and rather intense. Went into Labor & Delivery at UNC Women's Hospital by 7:30 am, was in Triage by 8, and then told I'd made no progress. My blood pressure was high, though, so the OB resident (Dr. Ritter) ordered some blood work and sent us downstairs to walk around the lobby until the results came back. It was NOT exactly a fun time, as I was experiencing back labor. (It's hard to describe, so running the term through Google might be your best bet.) The blood work came back clean, so they sent us home.
Walked circles around the yard until I wore a new path in the grass (not really, but pretty close) while my parents and John did some cleaning, in hopes that I'd be able to progress SOMEHOW. Started having more painful contractions before midnight, crawled into the bathtub to try and labor in hot water around 2 am, called John to come help me get out of the tub when I couldn't talk through contractions anymore. Went back to L&D at 5:30 am, STILL hadn't progressed enough to be admitted. At this point, I had not slept since Tuesday around 3 am, so I had a mini-meltdown, knowing I wouldn't get any more sleep until I had some sort of pain relief or the baby was delivered, whichever came first. The docs on duty made the decision then to admit me for something they call "therapeutic rest." Essentially, they want moms-to-be to be well rested and ready to go once they DO go into active labor (I was in a limbo stage somewhere between pre- and early labor), because that takes the most energy to get through. So, they stick you in a labor and delivery room, give you a cocktail of drugs, and hope it knocks you out for long enough to a) get some good sleep, and b) possibly progress in labor to a point where they can keep you until the baby arrives.
Here's where things get a little dicey: Some of you may be aware that there have been whispers of a pharmaceutical supply shortage since about mid-last year. I can tell you first hand, it's no rumor. Not only are things like Adderall becoming scarce, thanks to the DEA not updating their standards since right after 9-11-01, but so are things like Phenagren and Zofran. Those are anti-nausea drugs that are safe for pregnant women, and one-third of the drug cocktail required for "therapeutic rest." As such, I had to wait an extra hour and a half for my meds, and it was NOT PLEASANT. -_- (Keep this bit of information in mind, as it will be important later, too.)
FINALLY got my shots and pills, and managed to sleep for a little while. Two hours, I think, then lunch was delivered. Conked out again after that, and woke up at 5 pm because the drugs wore off. My contractions were still painful, but I STILL hadn't progressed! At that point, my blood pressure had been consistently BAD, and the docs decided to induce. Now, at UNC Women's Hospital, the default for the start of an induction is the use of a Foley bulb catheter as the default method, rather than with any sort of pill or IV drug. Most people don't know what that is until they're told it's the same kind of catheter that's used to help people use the bathroom when they're laid up. They just install it in the cervix instead of the urethra, and use it to try and get the cervix to dilate from 0 to 3 cm. The plan was set: Install the bulb, move me to a different ward for 12 hours to free up a L&D room, and go from there in the morning.
Well, my body had other plans.
An hour later, John helped me to the restroom. The bulb popped out, and a gush of bright red blood after that. He called for a nurse, and as soon as he hung up, a contraction so painful hit me that I literally SCREAMED AT HIM to "shut the fuck up!" when he cracked a joke. The nurse arrived, removed the bulb apparatus attached to my leg, cleaned me up, and got me back in bed before calling the OB. (In this case, not the resident, Dr. Ritter, who wanted to send me home again earlier that morning, but the attending, Dr. Carlo and another resident, Dr. Parks. Both very good people.) Dr. Parks had installed the bulb, so he came in to check to see if he'd done something wrong during the process, and holy cow was the look on his face priceless as he said, "It didn't malfunction. . .it fell out because you're at 3 cm already." Leslie, my nurse for that shift, added, "I've never heard of a Foley working that fast. Ever."
Needless to say, I wasn't going anywhere. Dr. Parks convinced me to hold off on the epidural to try and walk around the ward to attempt more progression, so the nurse shot me full of morphine so I'd at least not care how much things hurt.
Yeah. . .that didn't really work out so well. Right after she pulled the syringe out of my IV and left, I was hit with another contraction so painful that I couldn't breathe. John called the nurse back and explained there was no way in hell I'd make it through any of this without an epidural. The time after John got me back to bed is a bit blurry, but I remember the anesthesiologist, Dr. Britton, coming in and discussing the epidural process. A short time later, she came back with the equipment, and her attending (I think that's who he was, though I can't remember his name) and started working on my back. The first epidural didn't take, so they had to do it again, only slightly higher up on my back. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but once the meds started working, I really didn't care anymore.
That is, until it stopped working on my right side about 3 hours later.
After that point, each does of meds was less and less effective, and the contractions from when they started Pitocin (that's a drug meant to help labor progress along, for those who are unfamiliar) right after the epidural went in were so painful, it's a miracle I was as calm and as patient as I was. 24 hours of active labor later, I'd been stuck at 9 cm dilated for 5-6 hours, and the Frodogeek had decided to turn sideways on his way toward the exit. Only THEN did any of the doctors bring up the possibility of a cesarean section. Personally, while I appreciate Dr. Carlo having the policy of not wanting to perform unnecessary medical interventions, when your patient is in such pain that she can't think clearly, and is sobbing every time the epidural wears off ON JUST ONE SIDE OF HER BODY (which indicates that someone screwed it up when they put it in, but that's neither here or there at this point), it's time to throw that policy out the window. In my opinion, a c-section should have happened as soon as it was discovered that my baby had turned sideways. (Which, oddly enough, they would have seen if they had performed an ultrasound at any point while I was there, but they did not. I found that to be very strange, but at the time, I wasn't really in a state of mind to question it.)
So, Dr. Britton and her colleagues came back in to talk about pain management for the surgery, and it was decided the only way to ensure the epidural wouldn't wear off while they had me open was to remove the existing catheter, and insert a new one, then add a spinal block (similar to an epidural, but administered somewhat differently) below that. While I was NOT HAPPY with the idea of having them stick even more needs in my back, I didn't want to be knocked out for the surgery, so I agreed.
Mom, Dad, and John packed up all our things while we were waiting for the operating OB and her team to get prepped, since we would be moved to the maternity ward as soon as I made it out of recovery following the procedure. Then a nurse I didn't like very much (Leigh, I believe her name was) came back with a zip-front polyvinyl suit, booties, and hairnet for John, and told him to go ahead and get ready, so he could be brought back to the surgical suite as soon as they had finished prepping me for surgery. Shortly thereafter, they wheeled me out of the ward and toward surgery, and John got escorted to one waiting room while my parents and all our stuff (which, honestly, wasn't all that much, no matter how much my dad complained otherwise) were put in a different one.
It took 3 people to help me move from one gurney to another, and then a new nurse, Sarah, had me sit facing her while the anesthesiologists started working on my back. Now, remember I mentioned that drug shortage earlier? This is where it REALLY came back to bite us all in the ass, because with no Phenagren or Zofran available, there was nothing to keep me from vomiting as soon as the anethesia took effect. One moment, I was fine, the next moment, I heard myself saying, "I'm about to throw up all over Sarah. Someone better get me a bucket. . ." and I upchucked something vile and green 3 times. Then I nearly tipped straight off the damn gurney. It took 5 people to keep me from falling, and then lay me out for the main event. Things got very scary for me right about then, as it is a little known fact that people who go in for these sorts of surgeries are strapped down to keep from flailing about if the meds wear off early. I knew this going in, and it still made me very, very nervous, especially since John wasn't there yet. The curtain that blocked my sightline to the surgery went up, and it was less than 3 inches from my nose, and THEN I found that it felt like I couldn't take a full breath. The drugs were working TOO well, as even though according to all the machine readings, I was breathing normally, it certainly didn't feel like it. I needed to cough to get more of the green muck out of my throat, and I couldn't, because it felt like I wasn't getting enough air, and that my diaphragm wasn't responding. Dr. Britton assured me there was nothing to worry about, but didn't actually DO anything about my problem. Granted, there might not have been anything she could actually do, but she could have at least told me that.
After what felt like forever, John was FINALLY brought in, and he sat next to my head. Naturally, it was then that I started throwing up again, and Dr. Britton had him hold the bucket and the suction tube to free up her hands to keep track of the anethesia and the machine readouts. Again, I said it felt like I couldn't breathe, and this time, I told them to get the damn curtain out of my face because it felt like it was right on top of me. The former, they did nothing about; the latter, they remedied quickly. By then, they had already cut me open, but I had no idea. John just kept tending to my upchucking, and I saw him stand up when the surgeon said, "Got his head out!" (Incidentally, it was shortly after that one of the docs shouted, "Sit down!" and John dropped back into his chair. This, however, did not stop him from taking peeks over the divider to see how things were going from then on out. And yes, somehow, I managed NOT to maim him for doing that once I had control of my limbs again.)
Not long afterward, I saw the NICU crew go into a flurry of activity, and I realized it was because the baby was no longer inside me, but actually outside. Then he cried, and I swear to you, the first words I said were, "He sounds like a little pterodactyl." To this, John responded, "Awwwww, we have a little pterodactyl, honey."
At this point, I felt some tugging coming from my abdomen, and one of the surgeon's say, "Ha, 14-1/2 inch incision. Told you I could get it under 15; pay up!" Normally, I would have laughed, but I vomited instead. Not because they were making jokes, but because it was only really the briefest of pauses between bouts of sickness the entire time I was in there. Dr. Britton's assistant took over cleaning up the mess so that John could hold the baby, and Dr. Britton took John's phone and snapped a few photos for us. Finally, he brought the baby down to my level so I could see him, and he really was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
The NICU team said the Frodogeek was fine, despite there being meconium in the amniotic fluid, but needed to take him back so they could perform their tests and give him his first shots. John looked at me, and before he could even ask, I croaked out, "Go. Just go." And he did.
Once they finished sewing me up, they moved me back onto a different gurney, and rolled me out to recovery. It wasn't until John brought our son to the area beside my bed that he finally asked, "So, do you think he's a Noah, or a Dresden?"
Without much extra thought, I said, "Dresden. Definitely a Dresden."
"Dresden Nicholas it is, then."
Dresden Nicholas d'Adesky was born at 10:21 pm on Friday, March 16th, 2012, at 9 pounds, 5 ounces, 21-1/2 inches long, and with a full head of John's dirty blond hair.
3 Days Old
4 Days Old (trying to eat John's nose)
7 Days Old, Doctor's Waiting Room