I am having a total mental block writing Josie's birth story.
Total. Mental. Block. Possibly because even though it was one of the absolute best days of my life (tied for first place with three other days, as a matter of fact) the actually delivery was particularly awful. And that's coming from someone who's had 24 hour labors, three emergency c-sections and a mid-labor uterine rupture. So, I consider myself pretty much an expert on craptastic deliveries. But, in the end, awesome result. So, really that's all that matters.
It all started off well enough.
On Wednesday evening I received a text from my obstetrician saying that the secondary screen of amniotic fluid came back as mature, so we were good to go for delivery. He scheduled me for Friday afternoon at 12:30 and we were told to be at the hospital by 10:30 for pre-op prep. I was really happy about this because I had started to get uneasy about stretching my uterus for another week. Also, my November 10th section was scheduled so early in the morning that the big boys would've still been asleep when we left for the hospital. And that just didn't sit well with me.
So we spent the morning together, I let the boys empty an entire can of shaving cream in the shower, and we took our traditional "this is what our family looks like right before we get one person bigger" picture. Then it was on.
At the hospital things went quickly, we were sent upstairs to the scheduled c-section waiting room, and then ushered to the scheduled c-section pre-op area, which by-the-by is so much nicer and calmer than the unscheduled c-section pre-op area. Who knew? But this is when things began to go awry.
Right off the bat I warned the nurses I am notoriously difficult to get an IV started on and that they may want to call their most skilled IV inserter for the task. I made it very clear I was not joking. Four blown veins later, they finally heeded my advice. Then the nurse anesthetist came in and asked if I've ever had any problems with epidurals. Yes, actually. My last three have been in increasingly difficult. It takes a lot to get me numbed. In fact the anesthesiologist
at Stephen's delivery remarked that he couldn't remember the last time he put so much medicine in someone my size. Regardless, she was up for the challenge and I wasn't too worried, since I've always
eventually gone numb.
Not so much this time.
After several doses of medicine and many tinkerings with pulling the epidural in and out (yes, just as awful as it sounds), we only ever got the right leg numb and the left leg a wee bit tingly. Belly? Totally un-numb. Pretty much the complete opposite of our goal. So she called in the resident anesthesiologist. Who actually had done his thesis on
antiphospholipid antibody syndrome, and was quite excited to have me as a patient. Despite his eagerness, he only managed to make my left leg a bit heavier feeling and my belly a little tingly. Enter the Chief of Anesthesiology. More tinkering and then the decision to bring me back into the operating room in the hopes that the epidural would finish kicking in by the time they were ready to start surgery.
Except? Not so much.
So the Chief of Anesthesiology gave me the option to be put under, or to pull the epidural out and try a spinal as a last ditch effort. With the understanding that if it didn't work, then I would have to be put under, and also that if the surgery took longer than expected and the spinal wore off then I would have to be put under. He strongly encouraged me to give the spinal a try so I would be able to remember the delivery. We went for it. The nurses propped my semi numb self up, promising not to drop me, and the Chief of Anesthesiology went to work. It only took four tries. From the guy who apparently never misses.
And finally.
FINALLY. Numb.
Unfortunately, they had put so much medicine in me that my blood pressure went all wonky and I got dizzy and nauseous and was pretty much horrifically miserable. So, they pulled the baby out, took a couple of quick pictures and insisted that I was so full of anti-nausea medication that I surely wouldn't get sick. One Major Round of Puking later they did me a solid and knocked me out.
I woke up on the way to recovery feeling awesome. No joke, it was like I slept for a week. As they wheeled me toward my bay, the Chief of Anesthesiology warned my nurse that I would be in recovery for a very long time because they put so much numbing medication in me that I wouldn't be able to lift my legs for at least the next several hours. In response? I lifted both my legs.
Needless to say, it's a really good thing the surgery finished when it did. And if we go for number five? They're going to have a special meeting about me. Because apparently I'm special.
But, hey. When I got to recovery? She was there.
Perfect. And absolutely nothing else mattered.
(One of the)
Best Day(s)
Ever.
