Because it was a scheduled induction, we knew when to go to the hospital. 8:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. Father's Day.
Upon arrival, they got me settled in a birthing room (we weren't as nervous as the last time we were there!). They checked my progress: 3 cm and 70% effaced. Huh. I thought that I would have made more progress than that after all that I did around the house in the last week to get the show on the road. Not so. All of that was about to change.
They began pitocin at about 9:00. Broke my water at about 10:00. After the first rush, we had to call the nurse in to have her change the bedding because I was soaked all the way down to my ankles. (They had said I had a lot of fluid, so I wan't too alarmed.) When the nurse came in she said she thought I had probably lost five pounds. :-) We thought we were in the clear and decided to take the pitocin hanger on a walk down the hallway. I'd say we took 20 steps before I told Dan I thought we should head back. He said, "really?" We left a trail of water in the hallway on our way back to our room. And I stood just inside the doorway while a puddle formed around my feet.
We laughed. And laughed. And, when the nurse came in again, we laughed some more. It really was like the scene from the Coneheads movie. I knew my water had broken then. There was no doubt about it.
The nurse suggested lying on my left side to "get things rolling." I did, but I wasn't sure that I really wanted to do what she suggested.
At that point I had been on pitocin for three hours and remember thinking that it wasn't a big deal...what was so tough about this?? People say pitocin is like a runaway train. And, four hours in my train left the station. That's when contractions started. And stacked. They were 20 seconds apart and increasing in intensity. All I could do was hold Dan's hand and/or the hospital bed and listen to him count to four. All I had to do was count to four. To four. Four.
After 90 minutes of tunnel vision, the nurse checked me. We were dilated to 4. I knew I had to get to 10. I also knew I couldn't do what I was doing for six more hours...and then push a baby out. Not this baby. Not with its ginormous head. Time for the epidural.
The anesthesiologist came in around 2:30 and I was in the throws of contractions. She talked the whole time she was in the room. (Dan said it was as if she was talking to a normal person. Not to a woman who was only able to say 2-3 words between contractions.) I kept having Dan repeat what she said because I could tell someone was in the room and talking to me, but I could not tell what she was saying. She told me I was going to have to sit up, swing my legs over the edge bed, hug a pillow while crouching. I wasn't sure how that was going to happen, but I knew it had to. Dan held me on the left side. The nurse held me on the right side. It was uncomfortable. When I felt the tube insertion, I said "pressure, pressure, pressure." Then things changed and I said "tingle, tingle, TINGLE, TINGLE!" (Apparently just after the anesthesiologist said you have a tingling sensation. Dan and the nurse laughed.)
Then the tunnel visions disappeared. Things were funny. The sun was shining. It was glorious! I labored for five more more hours. Relaxed. Comfortable. Peaceful.
At 7, just before the nurse shift change, they checked me again. 9.75 cm. Almost there. The doc thought we'd "labor down" for an hour and then push. (Laboring down is just letting the contractions and baby work to come down as far as possible before the momma pushes.) At 7:45 the nurse checked me and decided that we were ready to push. She sent for the doctor and we did two practice pushes. Two counts of ten. I could do this. When the doc came in the nurse kept coaching me and Dan through the pushes. After each one, the nurses cheered. They cheered. For real.
I pushed for 29 minutes when the baby came out. I don't know if I saw it first or if Dan said it first, but I could hear his voice in my ear saying. "Liz, it's a boy. And he's beautiful!" He was crying. When they put him on my chest I couldn't believe it. A baby. A BABY! They whisked him away to take his vitals and clean him off.
Doc stitched me up and I told her how glad I was to have had a son on Father's Day. I believe I also told her that I thought I could have a baby every day if it would be like this! (She told me maybe I should wait until the drugs wore off! ;-)) She told me that I was a champion pusher and that I might not want to tell people that I pushed for less than 30 minutes. (I, of course, am going to tell everyone. They don't have to hear just horror stories!)
The nurse got a call saying that the waiting room guests were wondering how it was going. She said, "tell them it's going well." She proceeded to say that we should take all the time we needed. This was our time with our baby. They would wait. So they did. Both Dan and I got a little time to hold him before we swaddled him up and let the visitor brigade in. (I even drank a tall glass of fruit punch and ate a turkey sandwich!) At about 9:30, the guest poured in: grandmothers, grandfather, cousins, great godmother and aunt. There were tears and there was joy. Dad didn't respond when I asked him if he liked the name. Barb couldn't talk much at all. The nephews were thrilled and excited and intrigued as the nurse explained all the things she was doing. There was so much love in the room; it was ridiculous.
Thus began the beautiful journey of Calvin Maurice.
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