When we last left off, Z and I were returning home from the hospital after being told I was not dilated enough to start active labor. On the drive home, I was starting to feel more uncomfortable, but my contractions were still somewhat mild. They just felt like really uncomfortable menstrual cramps.
We stopped off at the bagel store and Z went inside, leaving me to rest in the car. It seemed like he was in there for ages before he finally came out with our breakfast. I had been avoiding caffeine my entire pregnancy, but since I knew I was going to give birth soon, I allowed myself to get an iced coffee with my bagel and cream cheese.
Backtracking a bit, my younger brother had been studying in Israel for the past year and was surprising my mother that morning by coming home early. He was not supposed to come home until Sunday (remember, this story is happening on a Thursday). I didn't want to take away from his surprise, but I was itching to tell my mother my water had broken.
I know some couples like to keep the whole experience between them until it is over. I do like this idea, but I also felt like I wanted to give my parents a heads-up. It doesn't really matter which way you do it--whether you keep it all a secret or if you share what is going on--as long as both you and your spouse are comfortable with your decision.
Finally, we got texts that my brother had arrived home. My father sent out a video of my mother's reaction (which was priceless).
"Do you mind if I call my mother now?" I asked Z while we were finishing up our bagels.
"Go ahead," he said. "I'm going back to sleep."
We were both exhausted, having been awake since 4:15 in the morning.
"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."
Z went into our bedroom to lie down. I took another bite of my bagel and dialed my mom.
"Hi, Ima," I said.
"Hi, Shira," she said. "How are you?"
She sounded a little suspicious, which I figured she would be, considering I am usually at work at this hour of the morning.
"I'm good," I said. "Were you surprised by A?"
"Of course!" she said. "...Are you about to surprise me again?"
"Yeah. My water broke this morning."
"...Are you serious?"
"Yep..."
I explained everything that had happened so far and promised to keep her updated. When I got off the phone, I finished up my iced coffee and slowly walked into the bedroom intending to go back to sleep. At that point, I was feeling quite crampy.
"Are you okay?" Z asked, half-asleep.
"Yes," I said. I sat down on my bed to take off my sneakers when my entire midsection was seized by an intense, burning squeeze. That is the only way I can describe it.
"Owwww!"
I leaned over on the bed and started crying.
Z sat straight up.
"Breathe!" he reminded me. "In-2-3-4..."
We were totally off on the breathing, and I just cried until the feeling passed.
"You have to do the breathing," Z said.
"I know."
"Are you okay now?"
"I think so."
I took off my shoes and the feeling erupted again.
"In-2-3-4!" Z counted, insistent. "Out-2-3-4!"
This time, I sat up straight, picked a focal point to stare at, and breathed correctly. Still, the contraction made me feel like my entire insides were on fire. I managed to get through it without crying, but now I was afraid of the next one. I knew that was bad. I had read about the importance of relaxing between contractions. If you don't let your body rest in between, you start each contraction already tense, which just makes them worse.
Z took off his watch and started timing. I was having intense contractions every three minutes--counting from the start of one to the start of the next. That meant just a minute and a half between each contraction.
"...I think we should go back to the hospital," said Z.
I was thinking the same thing. Maybe we never should have left.
I put my shoes back on, we gathered our things once more, and headed out to the car. I had to stop every few steps to have another contraction. Finally we made it to the car and headed back to the hospital.
This time when we got to the hospital, Z got a wheelchair for me and wheeled me straight to the maternity ward. We got to skip the office of admission because we had already filled everything out the first time we came to the hospital. There was a small office at the start of the maternity ward to sign in. Z left me there and went to go move the car.
The nurses in the office asked me a few questions, which I answered as best I could when I wasn't contracting. Then one of them wheeled me down the hall to a labor and delivery room.
The labor and delivery room had a bed in the center, a television mounted on the wall, a rocking chair, a warmer for the baby, some medical equipment, and a bathroom.
"This gets tied in the back," the nurse said, handing me a hospital gown. "You can change in the bathroom over there."
I took the hospital gown and went into the bathroom to change. This was quite difficult, considering I had to keep stopping in order to breathe through a contraction. While I was in the bathroom taking forever to change, Z came back.
I finally finished changing, came out of the bathroom, and got into the hospital bed. Again, I was hooked up to a fetal monitor and automatic blood pressure cuff. The nurse checked my cervix and announced I was three centimeters dilated. Between that and my regular contractions, I was finally in active labor.
"Are you going to want an epidural?" asked the nurse.
"I'm not sure..." I said. "I think so."
I was so afraid of the epidural. The possible (rare) complications are so frightening.
"Can I decide later?"
"Of course," the nurse said.
After getting me all settled and taking my medical history (this is the time it was absolutely necessary for Z to have my medical history typed out on his phone. There was no way I was in the presence of mind to give it over and I was contracting so often that I could only get a few words out before having to do the breathing), the nurse left the room.
Let me tell you--contractions are probably doubly more painful while lying down as opposed to sitting up. I wanted to sit up to breathe through them but I had to stay lying down because of the fetal monitor. It was so much more difficult to do the breathing exercise (which was deep breathing, by the way. Lamaze-style shallow breathing does not really work. Deep breathing does.) while lying down, and I ended up crying through a bunch of contractions. Suddenly, I didn't care about side-effects or complications--I just needed the pain to stop. I needed an epidural. I also needed one other thing.
"Z...can you ask my mom to come?"
"Of course," Z said.
Z had offered to have my mom come when we first got to the hospital. It was something we had talked about briefly, and I had waffled between wanting her there and wanting to keep the moment private between Z and myself. When Z first offered, I insisted I only wanted Z there with me. Once I was lying in the labor and delivery room having intense contractions, I had an "I want my mommy" moment, so Z called her to come. Throughout the whole experience, I was so grateful she was there, so I definitely made the right choice--for me. This is yet another one of those decisions that is different for everyone and you and your spouse have to decide what is right for the two of you. I was definitely glad my mother was there.
Meanwhile, I also sent Z out to find someone who could arrange for me to get an epidural. Before I could get one, they had to do a blood test to make sure my platelet count was good. Anesthesiologists generally don't like to give epidurals if your platelet count is below 100K.
While we were waiting for the test results to come back (it took 45 minutes!), my mother arrived. Not long after, the anesthesiologist finally showed up. At this point, it was around 1:30 in the afternoon. I was nervous about getting the epidural but I needed the contraction pain to stop.
"So you would like an epidural?" asked the anesthesiologist. He was short and skinny with a thin voice. He seemed to fade into the wall somewhat.
"Yes, please!" I said. "But I'm a little afraid of them."
"You're only going to feel a small pinch as I numb your back. After that, it shouldn't hurt."
"No," I said. "I'm not afraid of it hurting. I'm afraid of getting an infection or having a really bad side effect."
The anesthesiologist nodded.
"There's always a risk, but it's low, and I will do my best so that you won't have any complications."
He will do his best? That was not the reassurance I wanted to hear. I wanted him to guarantee that nothing would go wrong. Afterward, I realized that it would probably be a liability (not to mention dishonest) for him to guarantee anything, but in the moment, I was so nervous!
The anesthesiologist himself seemed a little nervous-natured. Something about his demeanor did not inspire a lot of confidence, but I did not have a lot of brainpower to devote toward being skeptical. 95% of my mental energy was focused on getting through the contractions.
In order to get the epidural, I had to sit on the side of the bed and hunch over, exposing my back. Unlike what we thought would happen, Z was not sent out of the room. I felt a small bit of pressure when getting the epidural but that was it. It did not hurt at all. The hardest part was sitting in that position without moving while having a contraction. I actually alerted the anesthesiologist whenever I was having a contraction and he stopped what he was doing until it passed.
It took about ten-fifteen minutes for the epidural to work. My body felt so relaxed, suddenly. My mood brightened. I highly, highly recommend getting an epidural if you feel that your contractions are more than you can handle. It really, really works.
Now that I had an epidural, I had to get an IV to pump fluid into my body. I also had to get a catheter, since I was pretty numb from the waist down. Periodically, a nurse came in to check my temperature. Even less frequently, a nurse would come to check my cervix (this only happened once every few hours). Otherwise, Z, my mother, and I were left alone.
This was probably the best time during the whole labor experience. I was relaxed. I was able to doze off. Z, my mom, and I talked, joked, and "whatsapped" with my siblings, who had been alerted to the situation. I kept feeling chilly and my mother draped a few blankets over me. Otherwise, I was pretty comfortable. At 4:00, we watched Ellen on the mounted TV in the room. From the epidural going forward (maybe even because of the epidural), my labor progressed pretty slowly. It was a long afternoon of chilling out.
One time, a nurse came in to check my temperature as per usual, and then frowned.
"You have a temperature of 102.5."
What?
"I do? Is that really bad?"
I was so nervous that something went horribly wrong with the epidural and I had gotten the infection I feared earlier--the one the anesthesiologist had done "his best" to prevent from happening.
"Well, it means we need to get your fever down. And we treat your baby like it has a fever, too. It will have to go to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit to get antibiotics whether or not it has a fever. As long as your baby doesn't have a fever, it will be discharged after 48 hours."
"What if the baby does have a fever?"
"Then it will have to get a full round of antibiotics which could be like seven days."
I was freaking out.
The nurse left for a few minutes, then came back and hooked up bags of two different kinds of antibiotics to my IV. Thus began the process of trying to break my fever.
(Next up: the birth)
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