I figure that I might as well return to the blog! And Man do I have much to tell. Johnny Cash Sibley was born on January 23, 2012, although the word 'born' seems a bit funny. Here's the story of his birth...
Hubby and I checked in Sunday evening to begin the induction process. My Dr. had ordered Cervidil, for the purpose of preparing my body since I still wasn't "favorable" for induction. I hadn't effaced at all. The nurse was really nice, and I was extremely emotional. My family was all around, making sure I didn't freak out too much. Now cervidil doesn't cause contractions, it simply prepares the body. No pain, just nerves. We spent the evening hours playing go fish (or some semblance of it...no one could remember the exact rules so we made our own!) and then they left. It was just Hubby and me. That's when it hit me. I'm gonna be a mother!
I slept pretty soundly considering what was imminent. The nurse who had administered the cervidil came in and told me that there had been a c-section and two natural births while I slept. However I was more concerned with what was in her hand. Pitocin. The devil in medicinal form. We started the Pit drip about 5:30am-6am and WHAM, those contractions were one on top of another. My mother came right as they started the medicine, and thank GOD. They kept asking if I wanted the epidural, but they were only calling me at 1 cm dilated. I wanted to get as far as possible before getting the pain meds, just because I've heard a lot of horror stories about getting the epidural, or complications after, etc. They kept shaking their heads at me. Finally I had a really strong, intense contraction, and looked over at my mother. Her face began to crumble because she was watching me in pain. I finally said, ok, get me the epidural, because I knew if she lost it, so would I. We tried all the meditation and focal points we had practiced. We even sang Folsom Prison Blues (or tried to...Hubby laughed at us getting the words wrong.) in honor of my son's name. Let me be the first to say, Yes your child deserves to be brought into this world in a magical way. There is nothing more magical than an epidural. This was about 11am or so. I had made it to 4 cm, according to the nurse.
I got some sleep and they came in to check me every once in a while. I stalled out. I stopped progressing. Not only that, Johnny would move as soon as they found his heart beat on the fetal monitor. I asked the nurse if my weight had anything to do with the difficulty of finding him. She said that women who are skinnier pre-pregnancy do have an easier time with the baby monitors, as far as keeping an eye on their babies. When they came to check me about 3pm, they saw some greenish fluid, and told me that it was very likely that I would be having a cesarean because there was evidence of meconium and fetal distress. I was not prepped for surgery until 5:30-6pm. By then, because of the epidural, my legs which I couldn't move were swollen with inactivity and water. I was tired and groggy by this point.
Hubby got in his bunny suit and looked super hot! They wheeled me in to prep, and he had to wait until everything was set up. I missed him more in those few minutes than I ever thought was possible for a human to miss another human. They gave me morphine, which added to my sleepiness and during the surgery, I kept drifting off. Hubby kept checking on me by saying "Hey!" like he was talking to the baby. I thought he was seeing our son for the first time, but when I asked what was up, he just told me to keep my eyes open so he knew I was ok. I was fine. I wasn't feeling anything, I didn't even feel them pull him out. I had to ask if he had been born, and my anesthesiologist told me yes. I didn't hear him, so I immediately got concerned.
Johnny had his first bowel movement in the womb, probably due to the stress of the pitocin drip and everything that had happened that day. He had meconium behind his vocal chords so they had to pump his stomach before he cried so that he wouldn't inhale it, which would have caused an infection in his lungs. When he finally did cry, all I remember thinking was that he sounded like a girl! His poor little throat was so hoarse from them suctioning it out, he more squeaked and squawked than screamed. Because he was in distress when he was first born (he was at a 4 on the apgar scale...) they wanted to get him to NICU as soon as possible. They didn't bring him to my cheek, I didn't even see his face. If my anesthesiologist hadn't told me to turn my head I wouldn't have even seen the back of his head as they wheeled him out. And I was so messed up on the morphine, when I did see the back of his head, covered in pitch black hair (!!!) all I could think was "Crap, he's Mexican!" This wasn't racist! It was an inside joke. My food of choice the entire time I had morning sickness was bean and cheese burritos from Taco Bell. I had so many of those that my husband kept saying "Ok, I'll get you another one, but if the baby comes out Mexican, we're gonna have a little chat!" So when I saw the dark hair and since both my husband and I have light colored hair, my first thought was "Crap, he's Mexican!" We later decided that his hair is paying homage to both grandpas.
I didn't get to see my son on his birthday. It was after midnight when they wheeled me from recovery to the NICU to see him. Holding him for the first time was the most awesome feeling I've ever known. His little face was squashed from trying to get out, and his hair was sticking straight up, but he was so perfect.
It's been a long process and we're still not finished recovering completely, but I'm happy changing diapers and pumping breastmilk for his bottles. I had a really hard time the first two weeks, but I think that'll have to be a new post. Hopefully someone might take comfort in my hormonal postpartum emotional state, because momma, you're not alone. I just have to find time between being at his handsomeness' beck and call.
Until Then,
Big Momma
