Part II: That's why it's called labor.

(click here for the first part of Smushie's birth story)

Dill and I got in the car and headed towards the hospital. It felt like we were driving to Disneyland; I was so excited. We chatted nervously about my water breaking. Before leaving the house, I'd decided a skirt was the best thing to wear when leaking amniotic fluid all over the place. I'd wedged a washrag into my underpants and hoped it'd do its job until we got to the hospital.

On the way over, my contractions really started picking up. OW. Maybe my mom was right. My original plan was to labor for as long as possible without an epidural because I'd read they can stall labor. And the last thing I wanted was to get stuck with another C-section for "failure to progress." So, I had resolved to endure the pain for as long as I could stand it. But it was already getting hard. Time for some affirmations.

I can do this, I thought. My body was meant for this.

We parked and walked up to our swanky hospital. Really, the place is like a ritzy hotel, only the drugs are legit. They even have smooth jazz music playing near the entrance -- no joke. I feel so lucky I got to deliver there. It's a fairly new hospital so everything about it is modern and fresh. The nurses are actually nice. And the food is freaking awesome.

We walked through the doors and went to registration, just like we'd been instructed at our hospital tour a few weeks prior. A lone woman sat at a desk.

"Can I help you?" She sounded annoyed, like I'd just interrupted something important. At 2:30 a.m.

I tried to be chipper. "Yeah, my water just broke so ... I'm here!"

She then started asking me all these annoying questions as I was having more intense contractions. Here, you want my insurance card? Drivers' license? Take them! What do you want me to sign? Ok, gimme the pen! OW! CONTRACTION!!! It could not have gone any slower. And during the whole ordeal, I had fluid running down my legs. Great. I had nothing to clean it up with except for some tissues on the lady's desk, which were about as thin as could be. Note to OB registration desk: you might want to have some towels ready for those who come in paying homage to Niagra Falls. Just sayin'.

After signing my life away, I was admitted into triage. The triage nurse was a nice lady with a western accent. She had me change into a gown and then wait for her on a tiny bed.

"So, you think your water broke?" she drawled when she came back in.

"I pretty much know it did," I said. Was there any doubt?

"Well, I still have to swab you before you can be admitted, just in case. It's standard procedure."

She grabbed some plastic speculum-thing and tried to examine me. I say "tried" because as soon as she inserted that thing up there, my crotch emitted a large spurt of fluid. All over her scrubs.

"Oh, yeah, that's your water alright ... this is so stupid I have to do this ..." I chuckled nervously and apologized for the amniotic bath I'd just given her.

I then had to sign a bunch of papers, one of them being about the risks of VBACs. I read each frightening statement nervously and started to question my decision to have a vaginal birth. But those doubts were immediately pushed out of my mind with statistics I had found during my research. I knew there were risks to having a VBAC, but I also knew about the greater risks that come with repeat C-sections. I signed. We were doing this. We were at least going to try.

My first labor and delivery nurse came to the triage room and escorted me down the hall to my "birthing suite." And sweet it was. The room was huge with a flat screen TV and a nice couch bed for Dill.

The nurse asked if I wanted an epidural. I said no, I wanted to labor as long as I could before I got one. She explained my doctor would probably strongly recommend it at some point since there was a chance I'd need another C-section. If the catheter was already in place, they could just convert it to a spinal block and wheel me into the operating room. I told her I knew that and would probably get one, just not yet. She was supportive. She took my vitals and then left us to rest.

Dill slept for about an hour while I labored. I tried to rest in between contractions, but my mind was racing. I was going to have a baby today! I was too excited to sleep. I felt like a little kid on Christmas morning, waiting for the sun to come up so I could open my cute little present.

Around 6:00 a.m., the nurse came in to check my cervix to see how I was dilating. She said I was at 4 centimeters, which meant I was in active labor and my obstetrician would have to come to the hospital and remain there until I delivered. Protocol for VBACs, I guess. I was excited to hear this news. I wasn't able to dilate very much with Bubby before she was taken by C-section. I was in new territory now.

About this time, I was also noticing a change of pace and intensity in my contractions. Basically, it went from OW! CONTRACTION! to OHMYGOSH HELP ME I AM DYING! But, I had to endure, because the anesthesiologist had informed me she would be tied up in surgery until 7:30 that morning and I wouldn't be able to get an epidural until then. So, I put on my game face and toughed it out. Dill and I watched the news --KPHO, naturally-- and I talked to the nurse about how I used to work there. She was amused by that and asked me a lot of questions about the anchors and reporters. It took my mind off of things for a bit. But it was definitely getting harder to breathe through the pain.

My doctor came in an hour later and checked me. Despite having a lot of strong contractions, I hadn't progressed at all. I was getting nervous. The nurse had said I should dilate one centimeter an hour. That wasn't exactly happening. I was now in a great deal of pain and was getting tense. I thought maybe that could be causing me to stall. The nurse said epidurals sometimes allow people to relax and their labor goes quickly from that point. I began considering getting one.

Her shift ended and a new nurse came in. Her name was Pam. She was about my mom's age and a really sweet lady. Very friendly and supportive. We chatted about the baby, the new health care plan, our families and our lives. I was glad because it took my mind off the pain somewhat.

Pam checked me around 8:15 and said I was still a 4. I was so disappointed. This wasn't going anywhere and I'll admit it, I was getting impatient. I was hungry (hadn't eaten anything but ice chips since that blasted Hot 'n Spicy the night before), exhausted and just about maxed out from the pain. It was time for some much needed relief.

As if she had been waiting for me to cave in, Barb, the anesthesiologist, promptly walked into the room. We talked about past epidural complications. I told her with Bubby, my epidural was way too strong. It made me completely numb and I felt I couldn't breathe correctly, like I was suffocating. I hated that. Barb said she'd make sure mine allowed me to move and feel things without feeling pain. Sounds like my kind of drug! She got the catheter threaded easy-peasy and I was in Happy Town in no time. She was absolutely right -- I could feel everything (even the pressure of contractions) and could still move my legs and toes, but the pain was gone. The Perfect Epidural, folks. And Barb is the anesthesia queen.

Enjoying the Perfect Epidural. See how happy I am?

From that point, Dill and I alternated between chatting, watching television and napping. The doctor came in around 11:00 and checked me. Five centimeters. I wanted to cry. Why wasn't this moving along? I regretted my decision to get the epidural. My labor had stalled. The monitor showed strong contractions every three minutes or so; why weren't they doing anything? The doctor said Smush was "sunny-side up," meaning his head was down in my cervix, but his face was turned upwards. This makes labor very difficult because the head can't engage the cervix the way it does when the baby is facing the other way. So, the doctor stuck his former football player (not kidding) hand right on up there and turned the baby around. All I have to say is, thank heavens I had an epidural, otherwise one of us would be dead (either me from the pain or the doctor from me murdering him on the spot).

The doctor then ordered some pitocin to augment my labor. Oh, no. Pitocin is one of those interventions that make VBACs unlikely. They get the uterus going double-time and can cause uterine rupture at the site of the previous C-section incision. Very scary, and not a risk I wanted to take. I expressed my concern and Pam said she would only put it on the lowest dose, just to get things going. I trusted her and figured it was worth a shot. My doctor obviously supported my decision or he wouldn't be willing to sit at the hospital all day, waiting for me to have the baby.

Pam got the bag of pitocin going into my I.V. and we watched the monitor as the contractions got bigger and closer together, hoping this would do the trick.

Here's how it all went down: Part I

It began with a Hot 'n Spicy McChicken from McDonald's. No lie.

Dill, Bubby and I made a trip to Wal-Mart last Tuesday night to get groceries (why I continue to go to Wal-Mart after this episode is beyond me. I must be desperate). Seeing as how we hadn't had dinner yet, I suggested we just pick something up at the in-store McDonald's. That's right, folks. McD's and Wally World all in one stop. Living the American Dream over here.

The Hot 'n Spicy has always been my favorite thing on the Mickey D's menu. A fire-hot chicken patty and lettuce, smothered in mayonnaise and slapped on a bun. For only a dollar. Can't beat it. However, I don't advise eating anything with the words "hot" or "spicy" in the name while pregnant. The result is inevitably a searing heartburn. But, in my moment of weakness, I caved and ate the dang thing. That's what Tums are for, dontchaknow.

Following our well-balanced meal, we walked around Wal-Mart for a good hour, trying to figure out what groceries to buy with an impending birth looming. The Smush was due any day, and I didn't really want spoiled milk and rotten fruit in my fridge should we wind up staying at the hospital for a prolonged period of time. So, we had some important decisions to make, trying to avoid the perishables, and it just made time drag so slowly. Also, you should know that a Wal-Mart shopping trip with your toddler and husband means you will spend twice as much time and money than you would have had you gone alone. And you'll probably lose some hair, too. Don't do it. AVOID. Wal-Mart is never the place for a family outing.

So, by the time we left, we had spent far too long at the Evil Empire. I had a ravaging heartburn and a sore crotch, and Bubby was whining unceasingly. Time to go home. American Idol!

Dill gave Bubby a bath and I sat on the yoga ball, watching each contestant try way too hard to impress Miley Cyrus. Except for Crystal; she doesn't really seem to care about impressing people. Overall, it wasn't a great night for the contestants. It was just meh. When it was over, I got up from the yoga ball and noticed a great deal of pressure in my pelvis that hadn't been there before. Eep. I blamed it on the Hot 'n Spicy and thought nothing more of it.

We went to bed around 9:30. Dill asked if I thought the baby would come any time soon. I said no. The thought of the new pelvic pressure popped into my mind, but I decided not to mention it. Dill hates when I'm in my third trimester because I think every little symptom means I'm in labor. He gets tired of the false alarms. So, I kept my trap shut and we went to sleep.

I woke up around 12:30, feeling like I really, REALLY had to go #2. Stupid sandwich, I thought. I went and -- I apologize for the TMI, but this is reality, folks -- it was ... runnier than normal. And it kind of made me start cramping up. I began thinking this could be it, so I got a little overnight bag together for Bubby and wrote my mom (the go-to labor babysitter) a note explaining Bubby's routine. By the time I was done, it was probably close to 1 a.m. I went back to bed, still having some cramps. I decided now would be a good time to alert Dill to the possibility of real labor. He seemed a little grumpy because I woke him (and he undoubtedly thought I was crying wolf). He said, "Well, get on the yoga ball. If the cramps stop, you're not in labor."

Yoga ball time!

I sat on that ball for a good twenty minutes, the cramps coming and going regularly at this point. Contractions. Oh boy, I was RIGHT this time! I started timing them. Five minutes apart. I distinctly remember looking at the clock when it was 1:44. I thought, The next one is due in a minute. And I'm not kidding; the clock changed to 1:45 and I felt an enormous amount of pressure down there. And then, POP! Followed by a gush of warm fluid. Ho. Lee. Crap.

I ran to the toilet to make sure it was really what I thought it was.

Yep.

"DILL!!!"

In ran a flustered sleepy-head with wild black hair.

"My water just broke!"

"Are you sure?"

I showed him my pants. "YES, I'm sure! Go call my mom ... please." (Yes, I did actually say 'please.' It's times like these when politeness counts.)

I got in the shower to rinse off and started shaking pretty violently. This is it. Am I ready? Not really! Is everything packed? Not really! Oh my gosh! AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

And then, I told myself to snap out of it. I had stuff to do and my mom was going to be there to any minute. Put my glasses in my purse. Brush my teeth. Grab my contacts, toothbrush, deodorant, make-up (stupid, huh?) and pack them. Put the camera in the bag. Leave a house key for my mom. Put any last minute dishes into the dishwasher.

Mom arrived around 2:20 a.m. She said she was so excited to get the call, she tripped over something in the hallway at her house. She was nervous for me. She kept saying we needed to go to the hospital. I didn't want to. I wasn't ready! I had things to explain to her! OW! CONTRACTION!

Ok, I guess I'm ready.

Her parting advice: Just get that dang epidural.

And off we went.

Announcing ...

Carson Michael
3.24.2010
2:17 p.m.
8 lbs 4 oz
21 inches
VBAC baby

Birth story forthcoming ... as soon as I can sit for longer than five minutes without wanting to die.

Because I'm lazy ...

...and don't really want to talk about the fact I am STILL pregnant, I decided to link this fabulous blog post from C Jane Enjoy It, and hope you will read it.

It's exactly what I'm feeling right now. Exactly.

Try not to cry.

Waiting, wishing.

We're still waiting on a number of things.

One: Granny's passing. She actually seems to be coping really well at hospice. The night I saw her before she was admitted to hospice, she was in the worst shape I've ever seen. She was miserable. I thought she wouldn't make it through the night, to be honest. But hospice has livened her right back up. It's a relief, actually. I still realize her passing will happen soon, but I am glad she is feeling like her old self during these final days.

Two: The arrival of Smush. Went to the doctor yesterday ... still 2 centimeters dilated. Which is a bummer, because that's where I was a week ago. No progress, despite being kept up all night with contractions. I'm 38 weeks and some odd days today. So basically, it's GO TIME, Smush.

Here is a picture. I decided to be gutsy and take one of my bare belly, just in case (I hope) it's the last one for this pregnancy. WARNING: It's really white. It might scare and/or cause blindness.

38 weeks.

And an extra fun one. I tried to be all artsy and take one from above and it kinda worked. I like it.

Please bless my next post will be a birth announcement ... one can only mop their floor so many times before going crazy.

Looks like we're moving along!

I had my 37-week doctor's appointment yesterday. It went well (except for the cringe-inducing cervix check. Never fails to KILL me). The doctor said I am already two centimeters dilated. Only eight more to go, I guess! This was good news because with Bubsy, it took me forever to make any progress whatsoever.

The doctor also did an ultrasound to check my previous C-section scar. He said it looks fine. And baby is measuring right on target. So we're game for a VBAC! Now, we wait.

In other (sad) news, I am about to lose my first grandparent. Yes, I made it nearly 23 years without losing a single grandparent. And sadly, it's the grandparent I never expected to go first -- my dear Granny. She has cancer throughout her body and in her brain, and she has decided to go into hospice care. It's been hard to cope with the impending loss, but I also hate to see her suffer. So it's a bittersweet time for my family and me.

Granny and I used to have sleepovers pretty often. It was the highlight of my week as a kid -- Friday night, Granny would drive to my house and pick me up, my pillow and a change of clothes in tow. She'd often buy me a new coloring book and crayons (she loves the smell of fresh, new Crayolas) and we'd spend all night giggling about nonsense in her bed. Then, in the morning, she'd take me to breakfast and then drive me home. I always had the best time at Granny's. And (shhh!) I am pretty dang sure I'm her favorite grandchild. ;)

I am really going to miss her.

Between this loss of life and the new life about to join our family, I am going to be a little sidetracked. I apologize if my blog suffers for it. I will try to write as much as time (and my emotions) permit. And I will be sure to post when The Smush makes his grand debut. Don't you even worry. I'm sure you are all dying to see him. I hope he comes out with an Elvis hair-do. Don't you think that'd be fun?

Ok, Smush. Any day now ...

Thirty-seven weeks. That means I'm full-term! And that means...

...Baby, PLEASE come OUT!!!

Will you be bribed with chocolate? How about a car?

Liven up your Rice Krispy treats.

Tired of plain ol' Rice Krispy treats? Try this. You will NOT regret it.

This is what happens when you want to make Rice Krispy treats and realize you don't have Rice Krispies, but you DO have Cocoa Pebbles ... Hmmm ...

Cocoa Pebble Squares

1/4 c (half a stick) of butter (REAL butter, people. Not margarine, please.)
1 - 11 oz. box of Cocoa Pebbles (7-8 cups)
1 - 10.5 oz. bag of mini-marshmallows (about 6 cups)

Begin melting butter in a large saucepan. Add the marshmallows and stir with a spatula until smooth. Remove from heat. Add Cocoa Pebbles; mix well.

Spread evenly into a 9x13 casserole dish (previously sprayed with PAM or something like it). Let cool.

Try not to eat the whole pan in one sitting. I DARE YOU.

(I would have posted a picture, but they're currently bubbling away in my stomach acid. Sorry.)

My next step is to try it with Fruity Pebbles. I'll let you know how that works out.

Veeback.

Meeting my Bubs for the first time following an emergency C-section, October 11, 2007.

Or, should I say, VBAC. The acronym is pronounced just like the title of this post.

It is what I am optimistically hoping for when I deliver The Smush in a few weeks.

(notice how I didn't say "month." He better not take that long...)

So, what is a VBAC, you ask? It stands for "vaginal birth after Caesarean." And if you still haven't figured out what that means, maybe you are too young to be reading my blog.

Eh, I'll just tell you. It means come D-day, I want The Smush to come into this world via my hoo-hah. I would rather he wasn't forcibly removed through an abdominal incision. That's all.

So, when I was pregnant with Bubsy, I got to my due date and whattayaknow? No baby. This isn't all that uncommon, especially with the first pregnancy, so I just kept waiting. And waiting. And then, five days later, there was still no baby. And I was huuuuuge. And when I went to my 41-week appointment, the receptionist at the doctor's office was all, "You're STILL pregnant?" And I cried.

Thankfully, that night around 5:30, I went into labor! All by myself! And it hurrrrrt.

I toughed it out until 2 in the morning and then told Dill-Pill we needed to high-tail it to the hospital.

Got there, got undressed, sat on the bed and waited for a nurse to come in and tell me I was dilated to a 10 and the head was already coming out. Instead, she shoved her hand up into my cervix and said, "Two. Two centimeters."

HumunuhWHAH??

I couldn't exactly believe this. I was in an excruciating amount of pain by this point, so I couldn't fathom only being two centimeters dilated. Especially since I was two centimeters dilated at my appointment earlier that day.

I got the waterworks going (which wasn't too hard at 2:30 a.m. after a night of labor contractions) and the nurse said sympathetically, "Well, honey, we'll monitor you and see what's going on. But you'll probably be going home soon."

Wah.

So, they strapped some weird monitor thing to my belly and left the room. I was bawling to Dill about how unjust it all was. And then, the nurse came running -- I mean, RUNNING -- back in.

She rushed over to the monitor screen.

"I don't like the sound of that."

To make a long story short, Bubby's heartbeat was dipping dangerously low with every contraction. So they broke my water, put me on Pitocin (a synthetic form of oxytocin, a hormone that induces labor), gave me an epidural and left the room. Everyone hoped we'd done enough to get things going and have the baby. She really, really needed to get out of there.

About four hours later, it got really scary. So scary, my daughter almost died. So, after several professional opinions were weighed, I opted for a C-section.

I don't regret this at all. Not for one second. Not even when mean ol' Mommy Bloggers say that I've somehow been cheated out of the pinnacle of womanhood by having my baby surgically extracted from my womb.

Phooey on them.

Of course, a C-section is not usually the preferred method of baby delivery. It costs more, it has a longer recovery time, and it's risky. But sometimes, you just have to have one. And that's perfectly OK.

Apparently, though, some women are adamantly against them. They think they're evil, money-making ventures forced upon pregnant women everywhere. And unfortunately, there are a lot of doctors handing out unnecessary C-sections just because they can, which only bolsters this opinion.

The real controversy begins, though, when a previously sectioned woman is pregnant with her second baby. Should she try for the VBAC, or opt for the repeat C-section? Two schools of thought prevail:

1) Pro-VBAC: the mother should be able to have a "trial" of labor" and given the opportunity to push her baby out vaginally, so long as her first C-section incision is compatible. Two C-sections pretty much guarantees she'll never have a vaginal birth, so a VBAC is necessary if she wants to have future vaginal deliveries. It also means the possibility of lots of health complications in the future.

2) Pro-RCS: the mother should schedule a repeat C-section, regardless of the reason or outcome of her first C-section. During a VBAC, there is a risk of uterine rupture at the site of the incision.

Now, here's what I've decided:

I want to have a VBAC. My first incision is small and it appears to have healed well. I had no other complications during my delivery (I went into labor on my own, my pelvis is not too small, etc.). Most importantly, I am planning to have more rugrats in the future and I know the risks of multiple C-sections. And I just don't want to deal with that if I can help it.

However, if my doctor determines it's not in my best interest to have a VBAC, I'll go under the knife again. I trust him. He is a medical professional. He delivered two of my sisters, and he's been an OBGYN for as long as I've been alive. And so far, he's on board with a VBAC and sees no reason why I shouldn't have one.

VBAC's are great. Twenty years ago, one C-section meant you could never deliver vaginally again. New research shows VBAC's aren't as risky as we once believed. In fact, they are probably less risky than a bunch of C-sections.

BUT. I firmly believe it's up to the mother. We have this thing called mother's instinct, and while we are born knowing how to push out a baby, we are also born knowing what's best for our babies and for us. And if a woman feels like she needs to have a C-section, she should do it. She shouldn't feel pressure from anyone. She should go with her gut and feel confident she's doing the right thing.

A C-section is not the end of the world, nor does one somehow make you less of a mother.

And that's my feeling on that matter.

It's March! It's March!

Which means my baby is going to come this month! Hurray!

Well, I guess it doesn't necessarily mean that. He could decide to wait until April. I sure hope he doesn't.

Here we are at 36 weeks:

Don't mind the mess in the background. That's a whole 'nother can of worms I don't really want to open at the moment. Let's just say I hate my cable/phone company.

Anyhoo. I think the baby has officially "dropped" because I woke up and my butt crack hurt. Yes, my butt crack. And it feels like I have a bowling ball between my legs.

You should see me walk (or rather, waddle). Hot dang!

I had a sweet little baby shower this weekend and got some great things for The Smush. Mostly clothes, burp cloths, washrags, blankets ... but I also got several pairs of shoes. I think this kid already has more shoes than Bubby did as an infant, oddly enough. But I must say, baby boy shoes are precious. He got some awesome plaid sneakers I am dying to put on him.

Tomorrow, Dill and I are taking a tour of the maternity ward where I'm having The Smush. I know, you're thinking "Aren't hospital tours for total noobs who know nothing about having babies?" Well, for one, I AM a noob to this hospital. Plus, I don't know much about having babies, since I had a C-section with Bubs.

Speaking of which ... C-sections are a pretty controversial topic on the Internets. Did you know that? I'm planning a juicy post in which I discuss them. You won't want to miss it.

Whoa, I think The Smush just head-butted my cervix.