I don't know how or when to write this. I need it to be fresh in my head, but I want a little distance from it. I also wonder if I can purge it like this - spit it out onto paper, if I can leave it there, pick up my daughter and walk away from it. That's how I picture it. How do I write it? It was awful and terrifying and graphic. It gave me my daughter, and so somehow I am grateful, and yet if I knew it would go the same way again, I know for certain I'd be done. I may be anyway. I don't need another child, may not anyway, but certainly not if that's what would happen.
On Saturday I went into labour. Not false labour, but steady contractions that picked up from 3pm and progressed until about 1:30am. Then they slowed until 5:30am Sunday morning when they picked way up. And then so suddenly that I wondered if I'd imagined it all, everything stopped. We went to the hospital to double check, and I was at 3cm, but it was over. They told me to go home and sleep. I was bitterly disappointed, felt like I'd worked half the night for nothing. But I went home and slept, and slept, and slept some more. And then waited for two days for it to start back up.
Tuesday I couldn't pretend I wasn't itchy any more. It was starting to wake me up. I kept hoping I'd just naturally go into labour, that we wouldn't need a doctor and a bunch of interventions, but when it became clear that it could be a while before that happened I went for a blood test. I knew it was positive anyway. I prayed like crazy that I'd naturally go back into labour, and that didn't happen.
Wednesday they called me and told me to meet them at the hospital, my levels were too high. We arranged a sitter for Bella, and went in with our overnight bag. We did a stress test, Emma was doing great and they repeated the blood test. The OB came in, same doctor that I had with Bella. He asked what we thought. I said given that I was 38 weeks that it would be stupid to go home and wait to get sicker given that the risk to cholestasis is sudden intrauterine death. He agreed, they gave me some gel to kick start contractions and said they'd check with me in an hour. 20 minutes later I had my first strong contraction, and an hour later we made our way to our room, somewhere around noon. Contractions picked up throughout the afternoon and by 4:15 I was in enough pain that I took my epidural. I had tried laughing gas and despised it, feeling like I wasn't in the room with my body. Once the epidural was in they began oxytocin, and they played with the dose, wanting my contractions to pick up strength, instead of just frequency, which is all that had been happening so far. I had a couple hours of painless epidural bliss, before one side of my body began to hurt horribly. During those hours they adjusted the monitors on my stomach, sure that Emma's heart rate monitor wasn't picking up correctly. When I'd have a contraction it would dip, but would bounce back quickly enough that they were sure it wasn't a concern. I was dilating, but she wouldn't move down, and things were taking much longer than they'd thought. They broke my water, and attached an electrode to Emma's head to accurately measure her heart rate. They ran another wire to measure the strength of my contractions, and also a catheter. I was starting to feel like a science experiment. I was wired everywhere, and could barely move without some serious organizational help. Meanwhile, my pain levels were skyrocketing and we kept being assured that the epidural should be working better than that, but they'd call the anesthesiologist back for me and he'd be there within the hour. They tried localized freezing which didn't help at all, and another drug they put through my IV that I found helped the resting period between contractions, but did little for the pain. They stopped oxytocin to wait until we could sort out my pain management. They did deduce that Emma was still face up, and that to work through contractions would encourage her to turn. The first sign I had that something wasn't right was all the nurses and my midwife leaving the room to chat. By then my contractions were coming too quickly to do anything but continually ask, "is Emma okay?"
The anaesthesiologist came back, fixed my epidural and watched me through a contraction or two. I felt better, so he left. Within the hour there was an incredibly painful spot on the same side, but at this point I was closing in on 10cm and there wasn't a lot that could be done, except the idea of my epidural suddenly being gone was frightening to me. I made it to ten, and was allowed to push through a very few contractions. It was very, very painful, and the OB mentioned that I'd really gotten screwed with my epidural. I agreed.
It felt to me like one second we were close, she was going to come, and it was going to feel awful but
she was about to be here. I felt every minute of the three years we've wanted her, tried to have her like a physical presence in the room. I cried again and again that, "I just need my baby" and everyone kept saying it would be soon, just keep trying. The next minute it felt like the doctor was making a face said something to the nurse and midwife and left the room. The nurse kept saying we'd prove him wrong, we'd have her before he got back, and that I needed to push hard, right now. I tried but it wasn't helping and suddenly the doctor was back, the overhead lights went on, the room filled with people and he explained that Emma wasn't turning, and couldn't descend, that every contraction was slowing her heart and she needed to be out, and now. He said he was going to try and turn her using forceps and I'd be allowed to try very briefly to push her out. If that wasn't successful, we needed a c-section. The room had been prepared and the team was waiting to rush me down the hall. Two nurses were putting leg braces onto the bed so high I didn't know how to get into the,and a table of very scary looking tools was rolled in. My anesthesiologist was there with consent forms I needed to sign for all these interventions and I couldn't pay attention with the contractions screaming through me, everything telling me to push, but my fear knowing I was slowing her heart dangerously every time I tried. I can't explain the fear, the utter panic and helplessness that those moments were, until suddenly I knew he was going to turn her and I closed my eyes and felt him push her backwards, and the sensation and horror of that pain is something that felt so completely wrong, so unnatural, that it was just indescribable. I knew she needed out, and I couldn't stop myself from pushing and screaming from the pain and the fear. I felt him turn her, and he said the cord was around her neck, and no wonder her heart slowed and she couldn't turn over. He freed it. He said he was going to pull her out on the next contraction and that I had to push and not to stop. It took only a few times, I think, and it felt like everything just stopped. I was so scared we were hurting her and somewhere in my mind every forceps horror story I'd ever heard played on a reel that I couldn't turn off. I couldn't look, didn't want to see what it was actually requiring to get her here until suddenly he told me to open my eyes, and I could see her head and little purple body following laying on the bed, and I heard her make a little sound and suddenly she was in my arms. I couldn't stop telling her I was so sorry, sorry I couldn't get her out, sorry we'd had to hurt her. They only let me hold her for a minute and then they took her away to check her and I heard her scream and Peter stayed with her and I held my mom and sobbed. I kept asking if she was okay, until after what felt like ages, they gave her back to me. I haven't really let go of her since. I can't yet. It's fine if people want to see her, and hold her for a bit, but in the end, I need her. I need her next to me.
She and I cried for a long time. Peter prayed for us both. She nursed, pulling away every so often to sob piteously. I joined her. Somehow he didn't hurt her too badly with the forceps and though it doesn't begin to matter to me, somehow I didn't tear at all. She has a dark bruise on the back of her head and a slight indentation, both of which should fade over the next few days. I'm in a good amount of pain but it fades when I see her, big black eyes and healthy pink skin, okay and sighing, making her little baby sounds. I don't know how we did it. It seems like something we conquered together, some little personal war we won. It's a shockingly violent way to have a baby, and they're so small and delicate and doesn't seem like it should work. The midwife told me later that out of the six OBs that could have been there, only three might have attempted it, and he is by far the best. She says it's something of an art and she'd have never suggested we do it with anyone but him. Somehow we got her here, and we are home. I just keep telling myself that it was just a bad day, even though it was the first. I get all the days from now on. She's going to be fine, I'm going to be fine. We get to go home and heal together and be a family. Everything about her feels hard won, from getting pregnant with her to getting her here, and I'm a little stunned by her, by what she can go through and by what she represents to us. I felt like Bella made us a family, and Emma completes us in a way that is incredibly beautiful and precious and fragile.
It's a part of her story, in the way that Children's Hospital is a part of Bella's story, but in the end, it's just one part. She has a future and a destiny and a purpose that I see when I look at her. She's a complete eternal being laying next to me in a pink blanket and I feel a little shell shocked, a little horrified, but mostly grateful. I'm beyond thankful that she's here, that she is what we spoke into existence when we named her Emma Camille. Whole and Perfect.
On Saturday I went into labour. Not false labour, but steady contractions that picked up from 3pm and progressed until about 1:30am. Then they slowed until 5:30am Sunday morning when they picked way up. And then so suddenly that I wondered if I'd imagined it all, everything stopped. We went to the hospital to double check, and I was at 3cm, but it was over. They told me to go home and sleep. I was bitterly disappointed, felt like I'd worked half the night for nothing. But I went home and slept, and slept, and slept some more. And then waited for two days for it to start back up.
Tuesday I couldn't pretend I wasn't itchy any more. It was starting to wake me up. I kept hoping I'd just naturally go into labour, that we wouldn't need a doctor and a bunch of interventions, but when it became clear that it could be a while before that happened I went for a blood test. I knew it was positive anyway. I prayed like crazy that I'd naturally go back into labour, and that didn't happen.
Wednesday they called me and told me to meet them at the hospital, my levels were too high. We arranged a sitter for Bella, and went in with our overnight bag. We did a stress test, Emma was doing great and they repeated the blood test. The OB came in, same doctor that I had with Bella. He asked what we thought. I said given that I was 38 weeks that it would be stupid to go home and wait to get sicker given that the risk to cholestasis is sudden intrauterine death. He agreed, they gave me some gel to kick start contractions and said they'd check with me in an hour. 20 minutes later I had my first strong contraction, and an hour later we made our way to our room, somewhere around noon. Contractions picked up throughout the afternoon and by 4:15 I was in enough pain that I took my epidural. I had tried laughing gas and despised it, feeling like I wasn't in the room with my body. Once the epidural was in they began oxytocin, and they played with the dose, wanting my contractions to pick up strength, instead of just frequency, which is all that had been happening so far. I had a couple hours of painless epidural bliss, before one side of my body began to hurt horribly. During those hours they adjusted the monitors on my stomach, sure that Emma's heart rate monitor wasn't picking up correctly. When I'd have a contraction it would dip, but would bounce back quickly enough that they were sure it wasn't a concern. I was dilating, but she wouldn't move down, and things were taking much longer than they'd thought. They broke my water, and attached an electrode to Emma's head to accurately measure her heart rate. They ran another wire to measure the strength of my contractions, and also a catheter. I was starting to feel like a science experiment. I was wired everywhere, and could barely move without some serious organizational help. Meanwhile, my pain levels were skyrocketing and we kept being assured that the epidural should be working better than that, but they'd call the anesthesiologist back for me and he'd be there within the hour. They tried localized freezing which didn't help at all, and another drug they put through my IV that I found helped the resting period between contractions, but did little for the pain. They stopped oxytocin to wait until we could sort out my pain management. They did deduce that Emma was still face up, and that to work through contractions would encourage her to turn. The first sign I had that something wasn't right was all the nurses and my midwife leaving the room to chat. By then my contractions were coming too quickly to do anything but continually ask, "is Emma okay?"
The anaesthesiologist came back, fixed my epidural and watched me through a contraction or two. I felt better, so he left. Within the hour there was an incredibly painful spot on the same side, but at this point I was closing in on 10cm and there wasn't a lot that could be done, except the idea of my epidural suddenly being gone was frightening to me. I made it to ten, and was allowed to push through a very few contractions. It was very, very painful, and the OB mentioned that I'd really gotten screwed with my epidural. I agreed.
It felt to me like one second we were close, she was going to come, and it was going to feel awful but
she was about to be here. I felt every minute of the three years we've wanted her, tried to have her like a physical presence in the room. I cried again and again that, "I just need my baby" and everyone kept saying it would be soon, just keep trying. The next minute it felt like the doctor was making a face said something to the nurse and midwife and left the room. The nurse kept saying we'd prove him wrong, we'd have her before he got back, and that I needed to push hard, right now. I tried but it wasn't helping and suddenly the doctor was back, the overhead lights went on, the room filled with people and he explained that Emma wasn't turning, and couldn't descend, that every contraction was slowing her heart and she needed to be out, and now. He said he was going to try and turn her using forceps and I'd be allowed to try very briefly to push her out. If that wasn't successful, we needed a c-section. The room had been prepared and the team was waiting to rush me down the hall. Two nurses were putting leg braces onto the bed so high I didn't know how to get into the,and a table of very scary looking tools was rolled in. My anesthesiologist was there with consent forms I needed to sign for all these interventions and I couldn't pay attention with the contractions screaming through me, everything telling me to push, but my fear knowing I was slowing her heart dangerously every time I tried. I can't explain the fear, the utter panic and helplessness that those moments were, until suddenly I knew he was going to turn her and I closed my eyes and felt him push her backwards, and the sensation and horror of that pain is something that felt so completely wrong, so unnatural, that it was just indescribable. I knew she needed out, and I couldn't stop myself from pushing and screaming from the pain and the fear. I felt him turn her, and he said the cord was around her neck, and no wonder her heart slowed and she couldn't turn over. He freed it. He said he was going to pull her out on the next contraction and that I had to push and not to stop. It took only a few times, I think, and it felt like everything just stopped. I was so scared we were hurting her and somewhere in my mind every forceps horror story I'd ever heard played on a reel that I couldn't turn off. I couldn't look, didn't want to see what it was actually requiring to get her here until suddenly he told me to open my eyes, and I could see her head and little purple body following laying on the bed, and I heard her make a little sound and suddenly she was in my arms. I couldn't stop telling her I was so sorry, sorry I couldn't get her out, sorry we'd had to hurt her. They only let me hold her for a minute and then they took her away to check her and I heard her scream and Peter stayed with her and I held my mom and sobbed. I kept asking if she was okay, until after what felt like ages, they gave her back to me. I haven't really let go of her since. I can't yet. It's fine if people want to see her, and hold her for a bit, but in the end, I need her. I need her next to me.
She and I cried for a long time. Peter prayed for us both. She nursed, pulling away every so often to sob piteously. I joined her. Somehow he didn't hurt her too badly with the forceps and though it doesn't begin to matter to me, somehow I didn't tear at all. She has a dark bruise on the back of her head and a slight indentation, both of which should fade over the next few days. I'm in a good amount of pain but it fades when I see her, big black eyes and healthy pink skin, okay and sighing, making her little baby sounds. I don't know how we did it. It seems like something we conquered together, some little personal war we won. It's a shockingly violent way to have a baby, and they're so small and delicate and doesn't seem like it should work. The midwife told me later that out of the six OBs that could have been there, only three might have attempted it, and he is by far the best. She says it's something of an art and she'd have never suggested we do it with anyone but him. Somehow we got her here, and we are home. I just keep telling myself that it was just a bad day, even though it was the first. I get all the days from now on. She's going to be fine, I'm going to be fine. We get to go home and heal together and be a family. Everything about her feels hard won, from getting pregnant with her to getting her here, and I'm a little stunned by her, by what she can go through and by what she represents to us. I felt like Bella made us a family, and Emma completes us in a way that is incredibly beautiful and precious and fragile.
It's a part of her story, in the way that Children's Hospital is a part of Bella's story, but in the end, it's just one part. She has a future and a destiny and a purpose that I see when I look at her. She's a complete eternal being laying next to me in a pink blanket and I feel a little shell shocked, a little horrified, but mostly grateful. I'm beyond thankful that she's here, that she is what we spoke into existence when we named her Emma Camille. Whole and Perfect.
