The labor story...

So, I figure I owe you all the birth story. It's fairly long, so feel free to skim and just pick-up the highlights. 

Ok, so at my 38 week appointment, my midwife offered to strip my membranes. She was pretty enthusiastic about it, too, which is kind of crazy because most medical caregivers won't consider any sort of intervention -- even a mild and safe form like membrane stripping -- until 39 weeks. (Full-term for babies is 37 weeks, but due dates can be off by up to two weeks.) (Also, a note about membrane stripping -- I made a clicky link above, but the short version is that membrane stripping is a process where the midwife or doctor uses his/her fingers to gently separate/lift your bag of waters from sitting on the uterus. If the woman's body is ready, and the baby, too, it can stimulate labor. If not, it pretty much doesn't do anything except maybe give you some cramps. It takes about 15 seconds, and it's fairly uncomfortable, but not awful. I'd do it again.)

A lot of women are sick and tired of being pregnant by the time they hit 37 weeks, which is why my midwife offered to strip them at that appointment, but I was actually pretty comfortable. I really didn't want to deal with any sort of intervention, but Mr. Zookeeper's schedule was presenting a bit of a problem. He was going to be home from Friday, February 25 until March 7, then he was taking off for a six-week trip out of state. My due date was March 4, but I had a feeling I would go late (most first time moms do). So, I told the midwife I would let her strip my membranes. I figured we would strip them on Friday, February 25 (at my regular appt) and then again on Monday and Wednesday of the next week. That way, we would probably gently ease my body into labor by my due date. I honestly did not think it would work on the first try -- I was just way too comfortable and I didn't have very many signs of impending labor.

I was wrong. 

My midwife stripped my membranes at 9:30 on Friday, February 26. Then I headed to the gym to walk for an hour. Came home and played with my dogs and baked a lasagna. I skipped my afternoon nap (big mistake) because Mr. Zookeeper was coming home. He got in around 3:00, but I was starting to feel crampy, so I sent him out to run some errands while I stayed home to watch TV. By 4:00, I realized that I was having timable contractions -- but they really weren't too awful. I thought maybe it meant I would go into labor the next day or Sunday. 

Wrong again.

By 5:00, things were a bit more uncomfortable. I got into the tub and would sing through each contraction. (Jesse said Pam and Julie would be proud, since most of the songs were patriotic. "Star Spanged Banner" was a favorite, apparently.)

So, anyhoo. Contractions continue, Mr. Zookeeper gets home at 6, and at 7 I figure we should head over to the hospital. I'm still thinking that maybe this is all a false alarm, but figure it wouldn't hurt to have them check it out. On our way out to the hospital, we notice there are signs saying that the tunnel we need to use is closed -- but then other signs say it is simply congested. We ignore them, because by the time we get to the tunnel we can see that it is not closed and that the congestion really isn't that bad. (My second mistake of the day -- well, third if you count the lasagna I ruined by using a plastic top in the oven. C'est la vie.)

So, the hospital is like 20 minutes away, and with the slight congestion we arrive at 7:30. They set up me up in a triage room -- which is a small hospital room used to evaluate incoming labor and delivery patients without actually admitting them to the hospital. My contractions are regular, but mild, and I'm only 3 centimeters. (You need to be 10 to deliver.) They set me up on some diagnostic machines to keep track of the contractions and baby's heart rate, and I sit on my birthing ball and watch America's Funniest Home videos with Mr. Zookeeper. (Still singing, only now I've moved on to "American the Beautiful" and humming the AFV theme song.

Well, at 9:30 they check me again and I've only progressed to 4 cm. This is pretty slow progress, but typical for a first delivery. After an hour, they give me the option of walking the hospital halls or heading home to rest. Mr. Zookeeper and I are both exhausted and starving, so I decide I'd rather ride this out in my own bed and we head home. 

By the time I get set up in my bed, the pain is excruciating. Mr. Zookeeper napped on the couch and tried to console the dogs (my moaning was pretty distracting) and I eventually moved to the bathroom where I just sort of propped myself up against the wall and silently screamed. I really didn't want to have to drive back to the hospital, because I figured I would get there and only be 5 cm. I thought that would be more frustrating than labor. So, I closed the bathroom door and told myself I wouldn't leave that room until midnight. 

At midnight, I burst through the door and told Mr. Zookeeper I was getting in the car. He scrambled to get himself together and off we went. This is where the story got complicated.

I was laboring pretty hard in the front seat, just doing a lot of heavy breathing and saying the "F" word quietly, when Mr. Zookeeper pointed out that there were still signs saying the tunnel was closed. I told him I thought they were probably left over from the rush hour "congested" signs, and we should just continue on our normal route. He asked me if we had a back-up plan, and I said I didn't because it was on my list to do for next week. 

Then he pointed out all the big yellow cones and barriers and the police cars blocking the entrance of the tunnel.

Soooo, now we were scrambling to figure out how to get to the hospital. Once you're past the tunnel, it's only a three minute drive...but we couldn't get to that street because the only access is through that damned tunnel. Not only that, but the detour signs were really confusing (at one point, they had arrows pointing opposite directions and a FOLLOW DETOUR sign...uhhh??!?!!) and I was no help because the contractions were nearly on top of one another at that point. Mr. Zookeeper was trying to punch in the address on our GPS (also, I had never written down the hospital's actual street address...he had to use his iPhone to look that up first and we got even more lost in the process), and also trying to distract me from the pain. ("Look! A stray kitty! Maybe he wants to be in the gang!") 

We also drove through the downtown bar district in Portsmouth, and the weather was so nice that evening that we saw all these people out drinking on the patios and I can't tell you how badly I wanted to pull up and tell them I was in labor and to give me their beer. Like...really, really badly.

What should have been a 20-30 minute drive took over an hour. By the time we got to the hospital, I told Mr. Zookeeper he would have to wheel me to Labor & Delivery (so embarrassing, I never wanted to be one of "those" women who couldn't walk during labor -- especially since I was gung ho to do it natural and without pain meds) and I also told him that if we found out I was only 5 cm, I was definitely getting the epidural. This was just too much pain. (By the way, I totally cannot for the life of me remember what the contractions felt like. I just know they were painful. I honestly don't remember the later stage ones, only the early ones -- which were like a period cramp that wrapped around your back and tightened your belly.)

We get to a triage room again and the nurse doesn't remember me, which is slightly annoying, but whatever. I'm answering all their questions again and I'm actually doing pretty good -- smiling and talking normally. So when she checked me, her eyes went big and she was like, "Honey...you are an 8 going on a 9. Hold on...I gotta get a doc." So, they run a doctor in to start explaining all this paperwork mumbo jumbo that I have to sign acknowledging the risks of childbirth and c-sections and yada yada yada. Again, I'm smiling, I'm signing. I'm trying to breathe. They tell me there is probably not time for an epidural, which is fine because that was my original plan, and then I'm in the labor & delivery room. Another nurse comes in to ask me a few questions about my blood type and my pregnancy and allergies, etc. And I'm doing great talking to her and laughing and joking, and she is just awesome by the way (it was like having Pam there), but turns out this was just the calm before the storm. All of a sudden my body is pushing and it is AWFUL. Just AWFUL. Like, worst pain ever AWFUL. (I should mention -- most women find that contractions are worse than pushing, and that pushing actually feels good or at least like a relief. This was not the case for me.)

Mr. Zookeeper was trying to set up the iPod radio and the nurse and I were joking when I have to stop mid-sentence and tell her that my body is pushing and that I no longer want to do this. All of a sudden there are a bunch of people in the room and I've turned hysterical. I'm near tears and telling everyone and anyone who will listen that I don't want to do this. My body is pushing and it is HORRIBLE. Just...excruciating pain. And I tell the doctor that I can feel myself tearing and I don't want to push -- but the nurses are all encouraging me to push. (All of them were awesome, by the way, except one nurse who was like" Your baby's heart rate is going down...you need to do this now." Which is a classic scare tactic they use on poor laboring women all the time and it's just so unnecessary.) Anyhoo, so the nurses were all giving me advice and telling me to grip behind my legs and bear down and to stop screaming (I really was hysterical) and push...but I'm convinced they're all lying to me. Most women have to push nearly an hour their first time in labor, and I just didn't think I would survive that much pain. They kept saying, "Don't you want to know if it's a boy or a girl?" and I was like, "No. I don't want to do this. Don't make me do this." But they kept on encouraging me and telling me that I was "close," but I didn't believe them.  Until I looked at Mr. Zookeeper and he was looking "down there" (grossssss...I told him not to do that) and he said, "Honey, you are so close. The baby is right there." Well, of course I believed Mr. Zookeeper, so I pushed twice and boom. There was a baby on my chest.

Honestly, as soon as he was on my chest I felt no pain. Nothing at all. It was like nothing had happened. And I had crazy amounts of energy -- even though it was almost 2 a.m. and I hadn't ate since noon that day.

So, to recap: 

Contractions started around 3:30

We got to the hospital for the first time at 7:30 and I was 3 cm

They checked me at 9:30 and I was 4 cm

At 10:30 we decided to go home

At midnight I decided we needed to go back

We spent an hour trying to follow that stupid detour

Checked into the maternity ward at 1:15

They had me in a labor and delivery room by 1:30

At 1:44 I told the nurse that my body was pushing

At 1:48 I started pushing with my body (it's crazy that the part of labor that seemed the longest honestly only took about ten minutes)

And at 1:52 p.m. Our Little Guy was born :) He was 8 pounds and 4 ounces, and 20 inches long.

Then they took 30 minutes to stitch me up. Gross. 

Also, I found out afterwards that sadly, there is no medal given for natural child birth. C'est la vie.

We had a routine hospital stay, although Little Guy has had to be back to the doctor's three times now for jaundice and weight checks. Pretty routine stuff for breastfed newborns.

So, that's the labor story. This post is already way too long, so I won't bother with all the details of us getting home and settled, etc., or the fact that it's taken me eight days to actually find time to sit at the computer and write this note. Oy vey.

One last postscript, though: We have a very sick kitty here at the zoo and we could use any prayers/good thoughts you could send our way. Jager went to the vet yesterday because he's had a hard time walking and jumping lately, and Sunday night he took two steps and just sort of collapsed. We thought maybe he had a sprain or a break, but it turns out he has a VERY high red blood cell count (so high their machine couldn't even register the number -- they had to dilute the sample in half) and they don't know what's causing it. His blood is really, really thick and it overworks his heart and leaves him with no energy. They won't give him blood thinners or steroids either, because they're afraid it might make the situation worse without a proper diagnosis. :( We have to get a sonogram done and then spend $400 to have his file sent to a specialist. So, keep poor Jager in your thoughts. He's such a grumpy gus, we'd never be able to replace him.