I should have known Friday the 13th wasn’t just any typical day. At least it definitely wasn’t a typical day for me. This past Friday the 13th was to see the birth of my second son, Henry. And although the day to be special, I still started out the day with it being typical. Henry was to be born via a scheduled c-section, one I’d had before. I’dchosen the c-section because it was not unchartered territory. I knew what to expect and for me the unexpected is not something I want.
You see, I’d heard stories about women in labor for hours and I really didn’t want any part of that. Yeah, there’s a recovery time to the c-section, but with my last one it was minimal and very much bearable. Again, I knew what I was getting myself into or so I thought. you’d think I would learn to calculate in the unexpected, but I didn’t.
My husband and I woke, showered, and started the process of getting the car loaded, Davey dressed, and the dog to the vet. What we didn’t expect was for me to start contracting at 8 am. Henry knew it was to be his birthday and was getting tired of waiting. So, after dropping Davey off with my aunt, we went to the hospital an hour earlier than was to be expected, all the while I was trying to breath and calm myself. Darn it for not attending any Lamaze classes. My breathing techniququa was eased upon old episodes of “ER”. Yes, please laugh and tell me I desethey the pain.
Immediately, I was given a room in OB Triage where I was hooked up to a fetal monitor. It was determined that I was contracting every 2 minutes. Wonderful! And to make things even better, my cervix was closed tight (much like it was with Davey)! Fabulous! And to add even more to that, I wasn’t going to receive any pain medication! I was to endure this? Obviously, the doctors and nurses were unaware to my low tolerance for pain.
After 2 hours of contracions (not including those that had started while still at home), I take into the OR where I was given the greatest relief of the day…a spinal agent that numbed me from just below my breasts to the tips of my toes. I felt like I was in heaven. The surgery began. I felt the same tugging and pulling as before. Again nothing unusual. And within a few minutes, Henry was born.
It’s amazing some of the things that a mind forgets about in 2 years. I remember the birth of my first son. I remember it was quick and he didn’t scream or cry a lot. I remember being able to see him and immediately kiss him although I wasn’t able to hold him. What I don’t remember is really anything else like the OR, the nurses, the procedure. This time I was a lot more alert. Everything from the blue and white round lights that were stationed above my abdomen that allowed for a form of a mirror for me to see what was happening, to the smell of something burning and the intense feeling of nausea that was rolling over my body.
When Henry was born, he was covered in pee and poop as he seemed to lose control of his bodily functions when he was expelled from the womb. Within seconds of his birth, I became tired and started dry heaving. My body wanted to vomit, but I couldn’t feel anything except for the need to vomit. Tears rolled down my eyes and I prayed for God to just let me pas out. I’m a wimp, I know. I was administered an anti-nausea medication through my IV (it took the nurses 4 times to get an IV in me pre-surgery without my veins popping. My arms and hands are still showing those bruised affects). My husband took Henry and left the room while the doctor and nurses continued to work on stitching me up and at some point I fell asleep or passed out. I did awake before being wheeled into the recovery room where my mom, dad, and husband sat with Henry.
Did I want to hold him? No! I felt like I couldn’t even raise my hand and that at any given point I was going to vomit. A half an hour rolled by and I was finally able to hold my beautiful baby boy. Beautiful is an understatement.
Henry is the spitting image of his big brother. His eyes are blue/grey. His hair is brown. He has his father’s chin, and the most wonderful capability to look at me and make me feel that my world is at peace. Friday the 13th is a superstitious day, but for me it has become the most memorable one I’ve ever encountered.
It was more of a painful road than I had anticipated, but totally and completely worth it. Take a look for yourself. I am one blessed woman!