How Do I Know I am in Labour? Part 2

June 5, 5:30am

As we prepared to leave the condo I recall my husband urging me to hurry up in fear I would have our baby in the middle of the kitchen floor and me giving him the death glare with my hand in the air as if to say "I need a facking minute over here".

I vaguely remember the walk to the car or the drive to the hospital as I clamped down on the pillow between my legs, trying not the rip out the stuffing.

When we arrived at the hospital my husband ran to get a wheelchair and I remember being hunched over the passenger seat with my butt in the air when an elderly couple politely approached the SUV to see if I needed anything. They immediately walked in the other direction when they saw my belly and heard the sounds coming out of me, “Thanks for the concern guys”.

At this point general admitting was still closed so we had to use the ER entrance where a male nurse politely asked if we were looking for labour and deliver before mumbling under his breath "of course you are, look at her". I made it into triage where they quickly assessed me and admitted me into a room immediately. I clutched the railing along the sides of the hallway as I pulled myself as fast as I could towards the room between contractions. Looking back, I can't help but wonder why they didn't get me another wheel chair?

“Why is it that 30 seconds on a stair master takes forever, but 30 seconds between contractions goes by in the blink of an eye”?

My husband ran to the car to grab our bags and before he could return the anesthesiologist was there with my epidural. Yes, I was getting an epidural; I was there to deliver a baby, not be a hero! At least that's what I kept telling myself for not doing it naturally. Why a woman would want to do that to herself is beyond me.

What happens when you get an epidural? I remember the anesthesiologist asking me to straighten my back mid contraction, he was trying to insert a needle in my lower back followed by a paper thin tube. Kudos to him for doing such an intricate job on women in the middle of labour. I couldn’t speak so I raised my hand in hopes he would notice I needed one more minute. I was also hoping he knew there was only 30 seconds to get the needle in before I started arching my back again from the pain of another contraction. "No pressure"!

At the time I wasn't sure if I had consented to the epidural, if my husband had, or if the nurses were like "give this girl some drugs" but I was happy to have gotten it. Within minutes the intense pain had subsided to manageable and when the anesthesiologist found out I could still feel pain he gave me another dose. After the second dose you could have poked my legs with a pitchfork, and I wouldn't have felt a thing. Ten minutes later I had fully dilated to 10cm. I guess rushing to the hospital saved me from missing the epidural window. Would I have given birth at home or in the car on the way there? Not a chance, the baby’s heart rate monitor showed signs it was sleeping. I guess the baby was just as stubborn as me.

June 5, 7:30am

It was shift change and I felt blessed with the two nurses that were there to assist my delivery as both were pregnant with their second child. It's like God arranged to have them there to provide all the little extra touches only they knew were needed when in labour with a first born. The bright hospital lights had been turned off and the morning sun was peeking through the blinds. The room felt peaceful and calm as my mini stereo played soft music in the background thanks to my hubby. It felt like a million candles were lit all around me, which I’m assuming had something to do with the fentanyl in my double dose of epidural, but I wasn’t complaining!

I was hooked up to a slow dose of oxytocin while I tried to sleep but I could feel the deep pulse of pain free contractions taking place every 3 – 5 minutes. I don't think it had fully hit me yet that I was going to have my baby in my arms that day. To be honest I wasn't ready, and I was relieved when my doctor said he was leaving to assist with a cesarian section down the hall before waking the baby up with a higher dose of oxytocin and I would have to start pushing.

Something I hadn't admitted to myself until that moment in the hospital, only hours away from meeting my child for the first time. I was frightened, I wasn't ready for the life that was about to unfold the moment that baby came out.

Will I be a good mom?

Will I be able to handle it?

Will I be able to breastfeed?

How was I going to do this when my husband worked all the time?

How would I do this without my own mom to guide me?

Dr. Jacob arrived back an hour later with a gown over his beige khakis and it was time to push. I can't describe the feeling, but there's nothing like shooting the shit with your GP about all the 'what if’s' and having a good laugh in-between pushing. My 'what if’s' were fun and simple like "what if the baby’s hair is red?”, "what if I poop when I'm pushing?”, "what if it's a boy after thinking it’s been a girl this whole time?".

It was calm and relaxed, and I got to laugh with my husband and an "old friend" I've known since I was 19 who was also my doctor. I started pushing at 1:05 pm and out came my miracle at 1:35 pm. We had waited to find out the sex of the baby and nothing says "it's a boy" like your doctor presenting a set of balls in your face!

There he was, Alessio Giuseppe Caputo weighing in at 8lbs 4oz and 22cm long. He was perfect! Let's be honest though, he could have looked like one of the Gremlins from the 1984 Blockbuster hit and I still would have thought he was perfect, he was ours. He did what any new baby would do and popped on me three times before shimmying down my breast to have a snack. It's a lot of work being born, and nothing has changed. He still eats nonstop and poops 6-8 times a day.

It was at that moment it all suddenly seemed to fall into place. Maybe it was maternal instinct, but I thought I had it all figured out and was glowing. I'm not writing this to gloat or to rub in people’s faces how amazing and easy I had it. I'm writing this because I was clueless about what was going to happen after. All I thought in that moment was, “this is going to be amazing and wonderful and easy”. Fentanyl? LoL!

I was naive to say the least, and the next day was another story.

June 6, 6:30am

The epidural had worn off completely and I WAS IN PAIN!

My incredible hulk pushing mixed with two doses of epidural caused incredibly painful 3rd degree tears requiring the in-house plastic surgeon to make sure everything was put back together as close to the original state as possible. I didn't notice at the time because they threw this gorgeous newborn baby on my chest to distract me while they stitched me up. I was swollen beyond measure and my baby who I thought was a natural at breastfeeding had torn both my nipples in half through the night causing the little colostrum I was producing to be laced with blood. I cringed at the thought of feeding him and anxiety rushed over me every time he cried.

It was a blur being released from the hospital and arriving home with my new baby. I no longer had the comfort of the doctors and nurses around me and my husband had to work that same evening due to an emergency at the restaurant we own, chef wife life. Suddenly there I was. Home. Alone. With a newborn. Once again, I was full of 'what ifs' but this time there were no laughs and all I could think was "what if I can't do this?".

Next week! Monday, October 5th "Hiring a postpartum Doula"