I woke up the morning of her due date with the sudden knowledge that things were going to happen that day. I'd had that feeling before and been wrong, but somehow I knew that morning that it was different this time. I spent the day making sure the house was moderately clean and that everything was ready to go just in case, and by the time JT got home from work around 4:30 mild contractions had started. We went for a walk down the road to try to encourage things, and within a few minutes and one small hill I was in a whole lot more pain. The whole walk back was in the rain as a little storm rolled in, and we listened as a cow somewhere out in the neighbor's field howled in what I can only imagine was the beginning of her own labor. The rest of the evening was spent on the couch with some Netflix and the contraction timing app on my phone; by 11:30 we were in the car and on the way to the hospital. By 1 am we were settled into our room for the night and the first round of mild drugs had been given to help with my increasingly awful contractions.
By 4 am, the mild medicine they'd given me was not even coming close to cutting it against the less than mild contractions. I had wanted to hold out as long as possible to get the epidural, but as I lay in the dark fighting back tears because of the pain I had to question why I was still holding out when the epidural had always been my plan. So we got the epidural (which, by the way, is not a very fun process AT. ALL.) and after it took a second to kick in I felt so much better. The process of getting the epidural might have been awful but the epidural itself was kind of awesome. I was actually able to sleep an hour or two that night and didn't feel anything at all.
The entire day of October 4 can only be described as start-and-stop. My water broke in my sleep around 7:30 am, beginning the cycle of false hope. The nurses would check on me and excitedly say that I had dilated a couple more centimeters and we'd think we'd have a baby soon, and then they'd come back an hour later and tell me that there hadn't been any more progress. We'd move forward a couple feet and then stall out for two or three hours until we'd leap forward again...and then stall out again. Meanwhile, we spent our time watching Zombieland and Shrek and eventually college football while 4/5 of my family members found their place in our delivery room.
It was pretty frustrating as the hours dragged on and we still didn't have a baby, but the blessing of being almost entirely pain free thanks to the epidural and the fun of having almost my whole family in the room with me made the day much better.
Around 5 pm, the doctor mentioned the possibility of a C-section for the first time. I had stalled out at 7 centimeters for several hours and the medicine they'd given me to try to encourage the labor along wasn't making much of a difference. The baby was also showing signs of being in a little bit of distress because of the prolonged labor - which is why they gave me oxygen for a short time. The doctor explained the reasons why we might need the C-section and then said we would give it another hour and see if there were any changes. I was so upset at the idea; I'd wanted to avoid a C-section at all costs and even having it brought up as a possibility terrified me. I spent that hour, though, talking to JT and really focusing on all the positives of having to go that route. By the time she came back to check on me an hour later, I'd pretty much wrapped my mind around the idea and felt comfortable with it...and then she said "great news! You've dilated another centimeter and I feel like we can keep letting things proceed on their own!" This was good news, but it was also frustrating news. I had just gotten comfortable with the idea of having the C-section and okay with the idea of not having to actually go through the stress and physical pain of delivering the usual way. I also thought - for maybe the seventh or eighth time that day - that we were going to actually get to have our baby. And the idea of having to wait another several hours was so annoying. (The fact that my mother and sister had rushed to the hospital early that morning in the hopes of getting there before the baby seemed, at that point, a little ridiculous.)
Things did indeed continue to progress, though, and at 8 pm my dad and brother were given the final nudge out the door so I could start pushing. The next two hours were blissfully pain free thanks to the epidural, but yet at the same time shockingly exhausting. I have literally never felt anything like it. Having my husband holding my head and my mother and sister at either side was an incredibly special experience, though. I wish so much that my other sister had been able to be there instead of many miles away at school, just like I know she wishes she had been there too.
It became clear fairly soon into the process of pushing that Baby was laying upside down; the not so technical term is "sunny side up." Babies need to come out face down so the hardest part of their head has an easier time sliding out, but our baby was laying face up so the hardest part of her head was getting stuck on my pelvic bones. The doctor tried many times to turn Baby over so she would be able to come out - which was incredibly painful for me - and after two hours she told me that it just wasn't going to happen. Baby wasn't going to turn, and it was time to talk about other options.
I didn't want a C-section. We didn't want a C-section. It had never been the plan, and there were so many things that made having one so unappealing. When I had my complete breakdown at about 10:30 pm, though, I don't really think it was just because I had to have a C-section. They wheeled me into that operating room, and every single part of me just broke. The local they gave me started just below my chin, so I couldn't feel myself breathing; I frantically told the doctors repeatedly that I couldn't breathe and they assured me that they were watching my vitals and my chest rise, and that I was in fact breathing. They had cut me off of liquids back at 5 pm when they'd first introduced the idea of a C-section, and by now five hours had passed without anything to drink. My mouth was so dry I literally couldn't swallow, and as I lay there feeling like I wasn't breathing and choking on my attempts to swallow I felt myself slip into a full-blown panic attack. I was the most exhausted I had ever been in my life, and the drugs they gave me for the surgery only made it worse. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't swallow, and I was so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open. My first child was moments away from being born and I was doing everything I could to force myself to stay awake. I can't even begin to tell you the emotions I was feeling.
When our sweet baby was born at 10:41 pm, JT was the one who got to announce that our baby was in fact a girl. They whisked her away to clean her and weigh her and check her out, and I continued to experience my complete mental breakdown. I wish I could tell you that knowing our baby was born was enough to calm me down, but it wasn't. I wish I could tell you that having my husband tell me that he had seen her and that she was beautiful was enough to help, but it wasn't. When he took a picture of her and held it right in front of my face and I couldn't even see her because my vision had gone double, it certainly didn't help.
Eventually they put my baby girl on my chest and she slowly came into focus enough for me to see her. Eventually the local wore off and I could breathe again. Eventually they wheeled us into the recovery room and gave me ice chips. Eventually my vision came completely back and I could stare at my beautiful Charlotte.
I so badly wish that all of that was enough to calm me down, and that finally seeing her and holding her was the magic potion that fixed everything. But the truth is that it took me about 45 minutes of my hour in the recovery room. It took me time, and a very sincere heart to heart with the nurse who had spent the entire day with us and had coached me through the entire delivery process. She let me cry for a half hour as JT tried to get me to explain why I was so upset and then she sat down on my bed, took my hand, and looked me in the eye. She told me that I had done everything I could, and that I had done everything right. She told me that I had done an incredible job in the delivery room and that the emergency surgery had been unavoidable: Charlotte wasn't coming out any other way. She told me that it's normal to be upset about an unexpected C-section and it's normal to get scared in the operating room. She told me that I was already doing a great job being a mom, and that there was no reason to be upset.
That speech, friends, is what finally helped. That sweet nurse was who I needed at that moment, and her caring but firm words were enough to get me back on track mentally and emotionally. It was like a fog cleared and I was able to look down at my daughter for the first time. I had a daughter. I have a daughter...and even now a month later it sometimes still shocks me.
There was a lot about October 4, 2014 that wasn't what I expected. There was a lot about that day that wasn't what I planned for. But I spent the whole day holding my husband's hand, surrounded by my family, and at the end of the day I was handed my perfect, healthy, beautiful baby girl.
October 4, 2014 was a pretty incredible day.
