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Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Memories of Birth, Teale, part two

Soon it was apparent we needed to go to the hospital. This wasn't the plan, I was being induced on the 30th and today was only the 9th. I reluctantly packed a bag and we made phone calls to have someone come be with Beau after we left for the hospital. Mark's Mom wasn't home and my Mom lived about 40 minutes away, so her coming on this snowy night to hopefully just be sent home in a few hours didn't make sense. One of our daycare families who lived up the street was able to come. They could stay until we could get in touch with Mark's Mom. We didn't tell Beau anything, still convinced this was a false alarm, we were going to put him to bed before leaving for the hospital. So as we walked out the door, leaving Beau and the warmth of the house behind, my mind spun with questions and my body started giving more and more signs that this was real. As we came up to an intersection on the way to the hospital, a contraction took me over and Mark suddenly feeling an urgency to be someplace safe, hit the gas as the light turned from yellow to red. I felt as if I were in my own dream, only hours earlier we were sitting with the surgeon discussing the plan. When we got to the hospital the urgency seemed to stop. The procedure was much different than it had been with Beau's birth and I wasn't sure what to expect. The hospital we were to give birth is a teaching hospital, meaning there are usually many students also anxious to talk to you and examine you. The resident I had was a woman and she was determined to be right and look good to her supervisor. She and I seemingly butted heads immediately, we should be working toward the same goal, the safety of my baby, but her agenda seemed more about her than about me. I'll never fully know what her intentions were, I have never crossed paths with her to ask, but to this day I lay much blame on her for what was about to happen. The doctor was kind and decent, a man though and no offense to all you men out there, but you will never fully understand how it feels to be in labor. The pain was not intense or maybe it was, I am very high tolerance for pain and not much of a whiner. I was sure at this point something was wrong, but the resident felt otherwise. Their machines were not picking up my contractions, so therefor, in her eyes I was not in labor. Exams were done, they knew this was a high risk pregnancy, yet the machines were being trusted far more than my feelings were. I am a firm believer in gut feelings and at this point, even though the doctors are telling me I'm not in labor, I am scared for my baby's and for my safety. As I hit the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time, my body seemingly clearing out, I hear them talking about me. The resident is telling the doctor that she is sure these are braxton hicks and they should just send me home. When I get back into the room, I tell Mark what I heard and that they are wrong, if they send me home we may lose this baby. Mark was strong enough to argue with the doctors, I knew he would trust me and protect me. I also start to trust my own feelings more and am stronger with the resident, when it happens. I was laying on the bed with monitors on, still she was arguing that the monitors were not picking up strong contractions. The bed was suddenly soaked, but because I had been to the bathroom many times and she wanted to be right so badly, she insisted I had just had diarrhea on the bed. When I insisted that that was not the case, the thick liquid was tested. It was amniotic fluid, so thick with meconium it looked like diarrhea. At this point I am finally taken seriously, and ultrasound is brought in, discovering why the contractions were not being caught, the baby had turned to breach position. I am unsure why this was an issue, but I do remember the resident was still very righteous acting, using this excuse as to why she didn't think I was in labor, why their machines were not picking up my contractions. When looking back, I often think about that "different" braxton hicks I took, leaning against the wall of my hallway, saying goodbye to my last daycare family for the day, as the time I believe the baby turned to breech. After all I had had an ultrasound within that day and she had been in the correct position for birth. At this point I know I am going to have this baby tonight and fear wrecks me. The doctors are called, but time seems to slow down as monitors are placed and the waiting begins. Looking back, I will never know why there was not a rush to get my baby out of me. She was obviously in distress, as she had flipped into breech position and the meconium were both signs of.  As we waited in a room, away from triage, I prayed to myself, tears and fear filling me. I was to have this baby by cesarian section tonight, it was no longer just a false alarm, she was coming. Mark held my hand, watching the monitor that was beeping with our baby's heartbeat and we prayed together.

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