On the Day You Were Born

I woke up before the sun on August 19, 2011 to get ready for a 5:15 a.m. induction appointment at Kaiser Roseville. You were a week late and I was more than ready to meet you. (And to stop being pregnant, because it was not at all fun at that point.) As I was getting ready, I began having contractions. They were irregular – sometimes two minutes apart, sometimes 15 – but they were there and I was hopeful that I would have a short labor and easy delivery.

Grandpa Gene came over to stay with your brothers and sister, and Daddy and I were off to the hospital. It seemed like the admittance process took an eternity, but finally I was escorted to my room. The nurse talked to me about the plan for induction and my desires for the birth. I gave her my birth plan and she noted that I didn’t want any drugs during labor and delivery. She asked me if I had any pain management techniques in my arsenal and I told her not really. She taught me some breathing to do and helped me through a contraction. My contractions continued, becoming more regular and more painful.

A midwife came in to check me out, to see if conditions were favorable for induction. The midwife checked my cervix, which was about 50% effaced and I was dilated to 4 centimeters. Everything was looking good for an induction to speed along the process. But then the midwife checked your position.

“Was the baby head down at your last appointment?” she asked me.

“Yes, they said she was.”

“Hmmm.”

That “hmmm” didn’t sound good.

“I think these are her feet,” the midwife said as she felt my bulging lower abdomen. Then she moved to check the area around my ribs. As she felt around the right side, she said, “That feels like her head.”

Uh oh, I thought.

So the midwife went to get the ultrasound machine to make sure. She came back and put the sensor on my belly and confirmed that your head was up around my ribs and your feet were down.

The midwife went to get a doctor to talk to me about my options. In the meantime, my contractions were getting worse and I was thinking I was pretty stupid for ever thinking I could have a baby without drugs. But it looked like that wasn’t going to be a problem.

The doctor came in and told me that there were some doctors and midwives at Kaiser who would deliver breach babies vaginally, but that none of them were working until the next day. But he saw that I was in labor and said, “I don’t think you’re going to make it until then.” No duh, doc, I thought. He also explained that they generally wouldn’t do a vaginal delivery for a baby unless they were under 7.5 pounds. I thought, well, that counts me out. The doctor, nurse and midwife were all certain you were around 9 or 9.5 pounds, but they checked you out by ultrasound to make sure. The ultrasound indicated you were about 9.5 pounds. The doctor recommended a c-section.

Yes, please. I didn’t say that exactly, but it’s what I was thinking. As soon as I heard you were breach, I immediately knew I wanted to have a c-section. I wasn’t willing to risk your well-being by delivering you vaginally, even if you had been 7.5 pounds or smaller. Plus, it meant I could save myself from my idiotic notion of giving birth naturally. Win-win, I thought.

At first, they were planning on doing my c-section in the late morning, but after checking the schedule for the planned c-sections that day, decided they needed to get me in the operating room as soon as possible. Anesthesiologists came in to talk to me and I told them about my horrible experience with my epidural when I had Fitz (namely, the anesthesiologist not being able to find the right placement for the epidural and sticking me over and over and over again, occasionally hitting nerves, all while I had transition-level contractions every minute). They promised to try to make the experience as painless and easy for me as possible.

Before I knew it, I was being walked down to the OR. Daddy had to wait behind, as he wasn’t allowed to come in until after I was already on the table, fully prepped for the procedure. The doctors and nurses were wonderful, explaining everything that they were going to do and what I might feel. They were encouraging and supportive as I sat on the table, leaned forward so the anesthesiologist could give me my spinal block. He did a great job, but told me he could see how they’d messed me up when I had Fitz. I laid down on the table, the drugs kicking in. Doctors and nurses were buzzing about, getting everything ready for your delivery. The RN anesthesiologist sat by my head and told me everything that was going on. They checked to see if I could feel any pain, but I couldn’t. Everything was good.

Except my chin was quivering like crazy, I was scared and your dad still wasn’t in the room. I was so tense and nervous. There hadn’t been time for me to get a blessing. What if something went wrong? I needed some reassurance.

Then your dad came in the room and all was well. He has a way of doing that for me.

I felt pressure and tugging and pulling as they worked to get you out. One doctor pushed down on my torso to help you travel downward and then the other pulled you out. Your official time of birth was 8:07 a.m. You were whisked away by a nurse, who got to work measuring you and cleaning you up. You were 9 pounds 7 ounces and 22.25 inches long. I couldn’t see you, but I could hear you crying. The doctors were working on me, sewing everything up, but all I could focus on was you and your cry. I was so anxious to see you, this little girl who had been growing inside me for the last nine months.

Finally they brought you to me. I couldn’t hold you because of how I was laying and because my arms were shaking, but Daddy put your little head next to mine and we laid there face to face. I called you by name and kissed you over and over. You were so beautiful.

It’s been two and half months since then. There have been some bad moments when I was exhausted and you were crying and I thought you would never stop or go to sleep. But that was just in the beginning. In truth, you have been a wonderfully easy baby, sleeping through the night at four weeks old, content except when hungry or needing a diaper change. You smiled at four days old and began cooing a couple of weeks later. You love to look at my face and I love to look at yours. I stroke your chubby cheek with my index finger and you give me your sweet little smile, with the one dimple on your right side. You are a beautiful, happy girl. I love you, Jane. I’m so glad you got here safe and sound and that you are a part of our family and a part of me.