The birthing room was fairly comfortable. It definitely was not like the room we saw during our tour, but it was still quite nice. I think we got the room with the land of the misfit chairs. There was one rocking recliner for two tired people, and your dad said it felt like sitting on a toilet bowl--a little support on the outsides with a hole in the middle. They put a couple chairs together and managed to make another decent napping space. The foot of my bed was lower than the head of my bed, which I think is normal, but I felt like I was going to slowly slide down. And, of course, I was hooked up to all sorts of contraptions, but I think we were all settled in by 9:30 p.m.
Then the nurse came in to check me out down south and decided to stretch things out a bit. It was pretty uncomfortable, but I knew it was just the beginning of the pain I was going to feel. They started filling me with fluids and realized it might have been a bit much to go through almost an entire bag in a few minutes. The Merryman Curse at work again--it's not usually anything major, just those little annoyances that pick at you. It kept me running to the bathroom every 20 minutes for a couple hours. Right around 10:00 p.m., they hooked me up with a low dose of Pitocin to get things rolling. The nurse talked about increasing the Pitocin, breaking the membranes, and a catheter, but we didn't end up needing that. You must have finally decided that you might like to meet us and took over.
I felt my water break around midnight. I didn't know what it was at the time, but I told your dad and Grama Schulz that I felt a pop. It felt like a water balloon popped inside me, but nothing came out, so I wasn't sure what it was. A little while later, I stood up to go to the bathroom and started dripping. Then I knew. It wasn't like the movies, though, where a flood rushes out from under the dress. One of my biggest fears, along with throwing up in front of people at work, was my water breaking in some inappropriate place--at work, in a restaurant, in someone's car. Here I was, in the most appropriate place ever, and I was still embarrassed and felt like I needed to clean up the trail I left from the bed to the bathroom. I did clean up the bathroom floor as much as I could. While I was in there, I think your dad called for help, and they cleaned up the room.
After the trips to the bathroom slowed down, I was able to rest a little bit. Your dad got some music playing and kept us laughing with his great sense of humor. I don't remember being too stressed out or really worried about anything. I kept my mind on what was happening in the moment, rather than fretting about what would happen later. I've always struggled to do that in life, but I managed to live in the moment for your birth. I don't think I really started to feel the contractions until around midnight. Your dad was watching them on the monitor and after a while started commenting on the big ones.
When he decided to step out (for the first time that night) to get a drink (and probably go to the restroom), that's when I decided it was time for the epidural. I couldn't get myself to breathe through the contractions anymore. Instead, I was starting to hold my breath and the bedrail. Good thing it was a sturdy bedrail or I may have pulled it off. Giving birth is expensive enough without having to pay for a new bed, and I’m not sure insurance would pay for my destructive attempt at getting through contractions. For whatever reason (one escapes me at the moment), I wanted to wait for your dad to get back before I asked for the epidural. When he returned, I told him I was ready for it. Your dad said my contractions were at 75 (100 being the end of the scale).
They cleared the room for this procedure, after I waited for your dad to come back. Of course. They had me sit Indian-style on the bed, with my back hunched over and my shoulders down, and I could not hold still while they poked that needle in my spine. Epidural lady had to try at least twice before she found the spot she needed. My nurse put her arms around my shoulders, got in my face, and kept reminding me to breathe, hold still, keep my shoulders down, and arch my back. It didn't seem possible to do these things on my own. She kept me focused, and she got me through it.
Side note, but an important one: My nurse was wonderful! She was everything we needed her to be. She was not offended by our sometimes crude sense of humor, she was kind and considerate, she gave clear instructions and good advice, and she took control in a way that was comforting. I needed to have confidence in her, and I did. I don't know a lot about a lot of things, but I am capable of following directions. I did what that nurse told me, and I'm convinced she was largely responsible for my nice and easy labor. She is an angel working as a nurse at St. Anne's in Columbus, OH.
Back to epidurals... they make things nice again. The timing of events, at this point, is a blur. Everything happened so fast. People don't usually say that about an 8 1/2 hour block of time with pain involved, but I landed on the favorable side of the average length of labor. I remember the pressure waking me up. I couldn't sleep any more because every time I would have a contraction, I felt like I was going to wet myself (or worse). Your dad was sleeping, and your grama was snoring... loudly! I was trying to wake up your dad without waking up Grama, but I ended up having to get loud about it. I felt bad waking your grama up, but the feeling didn't last. I decided that if the pregnant chick couldn't sleep, no one should. I asked for a magazine and your baby book. I found the page in your baby book for your hand and footprints and asked your dad to set it out for the nurse. A little bit later the nurse said I was 8 centimeters dilated, and your dad rushed to call Grama Peggy, Aunt Nikki and Uncle Paul, and Aunt Kandace. I think we decided to make calls at 6 centimeters, but you skipped right over a bunch of numbers. The last one I remember is 3. Grama Peggy made it to the birthing room just in time.
We ran through a practice push, and then we got serious about it. I don't remember feeling like I had to push (like the nurse said), but I learned when I should. Your dad was on my left side, and he held up that leg and my head through almost every contraction. However, he missed one answering a text from your Uncle Paul that read something like, "Whatcha doin'? Wanna go get some coffee?" So we even managed to laugh during hard-core labor. I didn't feel any pain, but I did feel like my eyes were going to pop out when I pushed. I actually put my hands over my eyes a couple times, at first. But then I started watching the action in the mirror on the ceiling and had to put my glasses on to see. I'm sure I pushed for a few hours, but you came fast. I guess you didn't see the point in taking it slow; which is good, because I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that we are all about instant gratification, and we had already waited nine months.
The nurse called the doctor to tell her it was time. We let a few contractions go by without pushing. Then the nurse called the doctor again to make sure she wasn't thinking about taking a shower first. We resumed pushing, and the doctor came just in time to catch you. Our Bean was born! You were born at 6:21 a.m. on May 12, 2010, a tiny 6 pounds and 15 ounces, 17 inches long. You were healthy, had all your fingers and toes, and had a little stork's kiss on your forehead and under your right eyebrow.
Everyone started taking pictures. Your dad cut the cord, and one of those pictures turned out to be a little too revealing. They put a towel on my chest, laid you on it, and we started to clean you off. Then they took you away to fix you up and check you out, and everyone went with you to take pictures. Your dad was kind enough to remember I was in the room and came back just in time. The doctor was finishing up down there, and I could still see it all in the mirror. He found the remote and turned the mirror so I couldn't see the rest. Probably a good move on his part. With the miracle of birth being over with, it was just gross.
I don't remember exactly what I thought. I don't remember exactly how I felt. For the most part, I don't remember what I said or what anyone else said. I don't remember when everyone came in the room. I do remember shaking. I shook like it was 20 below and they just pulled me out of a river. I know I had "a moment" with your dad and with Grama Schulz, but I can't remember anything specific. I know we talked about how beautiful you were, and I remember each person holding you. I'm pretty sure there were conversations about when Aunt Kandace got to town and when Uncle Paul and Aunt Nikki got to the hospital. But the one thing that really stands out is your Uncle Paul walking up to the bed. He hugged me and said, "Thank you." I'm not certain just what he was thanking me for. I can guess, but the exact reason doesn't matter. I know that he meant it with all his heart, and I know that because I felt it. I wish I could remember specific moments with your dad. I wonder if nothing really stands out because he was a rock the entire time, because there was a constant flood of love and support from him. You'll see what I mean. Everything is just better when he's around. And now we have you to love and support. Welcome to our world, Little Bean. Welcome to your life.
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