The last month has been crazy - to much action and not enough time to stop and take it all in. There are other things I could be doing - cleaning off all the clutter from my desk, finish folding the laundry that's been sitting for about two days, clean up the coffee table. I've just cleaned the entire kitchen so I think I'm entitled to some 'me' time.
The sea monkey was born on November 25th. A tiny squirt at six pounds, six ounces and only one day early. Amazing how accurate my doctor was able to predict my due date even though I had no idea when I got knocked up. The whole birthing thing was just, well, an ordeal. Punk Boy and I went our seperate ways on the 23rd to watch the Grey Cup - I to my sisters place and him to his friend John's house. About halfway through the game, I started to get a strange cramp in my stomach - nothing to crazy. I chalked it up to all the snack foods I was eating during the game and really didn't pay much attention. When they started to come back every so often, I started to think that maybe it was something a bit more. I went home and called Punk Boy, let him know that I might be going into labor but wasn't sure and that not to rush home. By the time he made it home, I was pretty sure I was in the start of labor with contractions being very minimal and coming every twenty to forty-five minutes. It was late - about eleven, and we decided we should try and get some sleep because if this was indeed labor, we knew we would need to be well rested.
Sleep did not happen. When we crawled into bed, my contracts were coming more and more frequently, about every fifteen to ten minutes and were getting stronger. We both laid in bed but I was up every five to ten minutes, groaning from the pain. At about five in the morning on the 24th, I decided we needed to go to the hospital.
There was a strange calm in the air when we arrived at the hospital. Soft snow was falling on the groud and no noises of the city could be heard. I remember thinking how damn peaceful it was and how beautiful it was. Great day to have a baby.
We checked in to the ward and I was put in triage, with a baby monitor wrapped around my belly and and IV put in my hand (which I was completely suprised that they were able to get in, considering I have the most stupid viens around). I spent the next five or so hours there. Laying down, taking my IV pole for a walk and then laying down again. I could hear women coming in and leaving the ward all around me, and was wondering what the fuck was going on - why wasn't I being put in a room? I had been in Triage, laboring on a bed there for what seemed like forever and I had only dialated to about three cm's.
When I was finally moved, it was to a small little room that had a fold out chair for whoever would weather the storm with me and all the stuff needed for the new baby (scale, warmer, etc). I knew almost as soon as they wheeled me into that room that I was being considered 'high risk.' Well, not really high risk per say, but not normal. After being in hard labor since five AM, and it now being sometime in the afternoon, I had only dialated till about four cm's.
I won't go into much detail about what happened next - the epidural that went wrong and turned into a spinal, throwing my lower body into complete entropy for a few hours. The emabressing way my water broke while getting the epidural. And who can forget about all damn things there were shoving inside me (head monitor on the baby, damn pee-bag, a monitor to mesure my contractions). I think I just about cried when they said that they wanted to try the epidural again because the first time not only froze me, but made me vomit. I shouldn't complain as the second epidural worked fine and I laid there, for hours, in labor, pumping myself full of drugs with each contraction. Punk Boy went home at this point to try and get some sleep. I was a bit upset at him for leaving me but I understood why and really, I was not alone. My mother and my sister were there with me.
The started to give me some drug to help my contractions strengthen, thinking it would help me dialate a bit more. After pumping me with that drug for hours and at about three in the morning on the 25th, I knew the gig was up, I knew what was coming next - C-section.
I called Punk Boy back to the hospital. He was pretty upset about the prospect of me having to have a C-section and wanted us to wait it out. I tried to explain to him that they did everything they could to move this along and things aren't working and I AM DONE. I've been in a completely uncomfortable state for HOURS and I was ready to get this baby out.
I went in for the C-section around 5:30 in the AM. I was scared-shitless. I've never had any sort of surgery before in my life, never mind one that I would be completely awake for. I was scared shitless. The whole incident was very surreal and I was scared, anxious and ready for it to be done. It's so odd to know someone beyond this big green curtain is cutting you open and the weird things you feel are them tugging and pulling at your insides. It still freaks me out to this day. But all in all, it was worth it as Baby Hunter was born at 6:33 AM on November 25th to Punk Boy and I.. and he is beautiful
I think he looks completely like his father...
Who, in turn, proposed to me on Christmas Eve....
What a year...
1 comment:
I love it.
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