I began typing this entry with one hand while I fed Bingo, on her one week birthday. I’m trying to finish it today, a full week later. Bingo’s first week disappeared so quickly that it’s already becoming a blur of emotions and new experiences. An attempt to document:
Thank you all for your welcomes to Bingo! I did, in fact, write updates during much/most of labor and will post them in the form of a birth story once I have a chance to edit.
Bingo is, in my totally biased opinion, the cutest baby on the block. This doesn’t negate the fact that I definitely spent a good amount of time this morning sititng in bed sobbing on to the baby after she went twelve hours last night constantly nursing, with the longest stretch of sleep for either of us being five minutes.
Luckily we have amazing friends and midwives, who bring food, laughter, hugs, advice and support. After a visit from the midwife this afternoon that included a crash course in improved breastfeeding, Bingo is now sound asleep and– of course– totally worth it all.
To make a long story short: after induction, 48 hours of intermittent contractions, 7 hours of laboring without an epidural, another many hours of laboring with an epidural, increasing interventions, a fever, decreasing heart rate and, finally, an emergency cesarean, our daughter (blog name still Bingo) was born this morning. All are well.
Once again, as captured at the time.
7:59pm: We arrive back at the hospital, which is much less crowded than earlier. The receptionist working the evening shift directs all of her questions towards Sea. When she asks for insurance information and I hand her mine, she says “Oh, it’s you?”
8:57pm: I’m hooked up to the monitor again. I’m still cramping, muscles gripping in a way that reads (slightly) on the printed traces. The nurses are talking about food poisoning and heart attacks.
9:13pm: The nurse comes and reads the monitor’s printouts. She tells us that the regular cramps are, in fact, contractions. She’s pleased with this, but less pleased with the fact that Bingo seems to be sleeping. She leaves and comes back with a styrofoam cup of too-sweet orange juice, which I drink/spill inelegantly down my front.
9:38pm: The doctor, the same doctor as before, comes to check my progress. He looks at the recorded contractions, before doing a very uncomfortable, thorough internal exam. I’m now apparently a fingertip dialated. Contractions + dialation = enough progress to result in the cancellation of gel, round 2. He summarizes: “Things are progressing… slowly.” Sea and I are told to go home and come back either when labor picks up or at 10:30am, whichever comes first.
9:45pm: Sea and I are worried about the cancelling of gel, round 2. On our way out we ask the doctor if he thinks labor will stop or progress overnight. He tells us that he’s “impressed” with my progress, that earlier he had been sure more than one round of gel would be necessary, that labor could stop but that it’s more likely that it won’t. Way to impress the doctor, Bingo!
So now we hurry up and wait, once again. Our support people are on standby, and we’re home to try to sleep. Contractions are coming frequently but not intensely. We’ll see how much of the next 24 hours I can blog, but I expect they’re going to be big ones!
Yup, still no baby. We’re briefly home between rounds 1 and 2 of gel.
Round 1, as written from the hospital:
2:29pm: As Diet Coke pointed out at yesterday’s appointment, inductions are a lot of “hurry up and wait”. Though Sea and I were shuffled through the waiting room pretty quickly, past the crowd of bored looking pregnant women, I’ve been lying hooked up to fetal monitors for a pre-induction check for over an hour now. The paper tracking heart rate now stretches across the floor. I’m pretty sure the nurses have forgotten about us.
3:00pm: There’s no privacy here. We’ve been listening to a schizophrenic woman behind the next curtain explain how her baby has probably died and her uterus is filled with worms since we arrived. A medical resident has been left to convince her otherwise, but isn’t succeeding. The doctor finally appears. He’s friendly, but rushed in the way that medical professionals tend to be. He checks my cervix and mutters, “I think she’s going to need more than one dose”. He tells me to come back at 7:00am the next morning.
3:16pm: hooked up to the monitors again, this time for at least an hour. The gel burns and I’m feeling slightly crampy, but that might just be because four people have had their fingers in my cervix in the past week.
4:15pm: Sea and I are now the only people left in triage. A nurse, who has been asking every single person who comes in whether they’ve had lunch comes to release me from the monitors. She tells me to return at 8:00pm, which contradicts what the doctor had said earlier but confirms what Diet Coke had said yesterday. The next 15 minutes are spent with the nurse trying to track down the doctor to determine who said what. She finally reaches him, “The patient thinks she doesn’t have to come back.” He sticks his head into the room and laughs at me, telling me that my cervix is still closed and that I’m just trying to avoid him. 8:00pm for round 2 it is.
4:25pm: Sea and I walk back from the hospital. She asks how I’m feeling. “Fine.”, I reply. She presses for more details, so I explain that it feels like somebody just shoved a jalepeno pepper in my vagina. She doesn’t request more information.
It’s 2.5 hours later now, and I feel slightly crampy but fine. Sea is packing up our bag of distractions again, preparing for a romantic evening in triage. “Alright, let’s go have a baby.”, she says.
While we were eating breakfast this morning, I turned to Sea and said: “I think Bingo has inherited my time management skills”. You see, I’m perpetually late. Ten minutes before I need to be somewhere twenty minutes away, I’ll be running around trying to find my keys and my right shoe. I imagine that’s what Bingo is doing now: turning circles in my uterus, looking anxiously at a small watch, saying “I just need to…”
You see, Bingo is now eight days past due. In addition to this, Bingo hasn’t yet dropped fully into my pelvis. In addition to this, a biophysical profile done on Monday shows an… *ahem* hefty fetus, at an estimated 9 pounds. Based on these facts, induction has been scheduled to begin tomorrow. Sea updated her personal blog with the details of today’s midwife appointment, which I’m copying and pasting here in lieu of my own play by play.
No, no Bingo yet. No sign of Bingo yet, either.
After work, Sea came home with a copy of the free local paper. “Read Bingo’s horoscope!”, she told me. Today’s Scorpio horoscope:
“An issue you have been avoiding has now to be faced. You have just four days to get your act together and resolve the situation- after that the matter will be taken out of your hands.”