JANUARY 13, 2011
10:20 a.m.
I go into my doctor's office for a regular check-up. My doctor puts the little baby monitor on my belly to listen to her heart. Over the course of a couple of minutes, her heart rate changes a bit--enough to make him nervous. He decides to send me to the hospital for non-stress test to make sure Katie's doing okay.
He tells me that if there is anything at all on the test to make us nervous, they would induce me that day. Otherwise, they were scheduling me for Monday (which would be over a week late).
NOTE: I had two minor contractions while talking to the doctor.
11:45 a.m.
I'm lying on a table in a little curtained area where they do non-stress tests, across the hall from labor and delivery. They've strapped a fetal heart monitor onto my belly. The nurse does an ultrasound to make sure nothing bad is going on, then leaves me and Mike alone listening to baby's heartbeat. She is watching it out at her nurse's station.
Baby's moving just fine, and we're listening to what Mike and I think is a steady heartbeat. Neither of us thinks anything is wrong. We start whispering excitedly about how we'll be parents no later than Monday, and how she'd be born on my half birthday. It still doesn't feel real.
NOTE: I had a few more small contractions.
Close to 12:00 p.m.
The nurse comes back into my curtained area. She says that there were some places where the heart rate dropped enough to make her nervous, so she showed it to the perinatologost, who agreed. She says that even though the baby's not in dire peril, they like to stop problems before they start. They're going to induce me right away.
NOTE: I may have just freaked myself out, but I have a particularly strong contraction right then.
1:00 p.m.
I'm lying on quite a different table now. The nurse from perinatology has walked me and Mike across the hall to labor and delivery. We both stop in the bathroom on the way. A nice blonde woman has checked me into the office and gives me some pamphlets. We sit in a cozy little lobby while she looks me up and scans my insurance card. Then she hits an ominous button and two double doors open on their own. (Note: these doors do not have handles. On either side. Freaky.)
I've changed into a rather boring hospital gown and climbed up onto the bed in my spacious, comfortable delivery room with wall-windows that overlook the valley. The nurses have had much difficulty putting in my IV because my hands are so swollen, but now I have saline dripping on me. I also have a fetal heart monitor and a contraction monitor strapped to my belly. Mike and I are getting ready for the long haul. The nurse tells us that they begin Pitocin on 4 mL an hour, increasing it slowly until it gets to 20 mL/hr, at which point they'll break my water and see what happens.
NOTE: The instant the Pitocin was dripping into my veins (on the lowest dose), the contractions were two to three minutes apart. I don't think we're going to need that whole bag.
Around 5:30 p.m.
Dr. Glenn comes in after his office closes, and he and the nurse tell me that they've been watching my contractions and that they're going to break my water. I'm only up to about 8 mL/hr, but I'm really not having fun. They break my water and it doesn't much change my contractions, but we're hoping it will speed things up. Dr. Glenn gives the nurse some kind of instructions, and we're on our own again.
After 6 p.m.
My contractions are getting really hard. Because we were caught unawares, we don't have our hospital bag, which I spent so much care in packing. This means I don't have my iPod or any of the other things I was going to use to distract myself. We do however have my copy of The Princess Bride, which I was reading in the doctor's office before we went in. I've been reading aloud to Mike because I'm hilarious and do all the voices. This is also a good idea because every time a contraction gets too bad to handle (every minute and a half or so) I put the book down on my stomach and close my eyes, and Mike knows to come hold my hand and help me breathe. He's superman. I'm starting to feel like chickening out.
Around 7 p.m.
I've chickened out and the anesthesiologist is coming. The epidural feels weird and makes my nerves feel funny. Mike points out that he's playing with my spine. Now it all makes sense. The instant they put it in, I feel all happy. Life is much better now. I keep reading for a little while, and every once in a while, Mike says "Are you feeling anything right now?" and I say, "no." He then smiles and says, "Because you just got over the biggest contraction you've had yet." It's starting to get dark and we're both exhausted from the first six hours, so we both fall asleep.
. . . . time passing . . . .
. . . . other gross things happening . . . .
JANUARY 14, 2011
6:57 a.m.
After much tribulation and my epidural wearing almost completely off by the time I was stitched up, I'm done. New dad has followed Katie around with tears streaming down his face as the nurses weigh, measure, and test her. He sends a picture text of bright red, screaming Katie to our parents by way of telling them she's finally born. I'm panting and shaking and in a significant amount of pain, but I'm a little bit distracted. I want to see my baby but I can't because I haven't worn my glasses since the first hour and she's across the room. Finally, Mike brings her over to me, wrapped in a hospital blanket, and puts her on my chest. The doctor and nurses leave us alone as a family for a few minutes.
There are no words to describe this feeling.
9:30 a.m. . . . -ish.
I'm sitting in my hospital room, safely wheeled downstairs with a heated blanket to stop my shaking. They've stuck a hospital tray of breakfast (croissant, raspberries and yogurt, honey nut cheerios) in front of me, but my nurse has shaken her head disgustedly and said, "oh honey, we get room service down here. You'll get something much better than that." But it's still food, which I haven't had since breakfast before my doctor's appointment the day before.
Finally, Mike comes back from the nursery with Katie. They've cleaned her, poked and prodded her, and tested all kinds of things. Mike glowingly tells me she got perfect scores on all fronts and that even though there were four babies born between 6:50 and 7 and she was the last one downstairs, she was both the healthiest and the first to leave the nursery. They've dressed her in a little T-shirt with mittens over her hands and Mike has picked out a little purple bow that they glued to her head. We just sit and stare at each other for a while.
My life is perfectly complete.
JANUARY 15, 2011
Just after 4:00 p.m.
My mom arrives at the hospital. I don't think she even knows I'm there.
JANUARY 16, 2011
9:30 a.m.
We're going home! Katie's tiny little body nestles into the middle of the car seat, which could comfortably fit a kid six times her size. They make me sit in a wheelchair and hold the free stuff while Grandma holds Katie and Daddy waits outside with the car. Seriously, I could walk just a few hours after labor. Why can't I do it two days later? Oh well.
We get home while everybody else is still at church, so we don't encounter many people. We walk into the apartment and it smells like whatever food the neighbors had been cooking.
It's good to be home.
Katherine Louise
Born January 14, 2011
6:57 a.m.
7 lbs, 14 oz
19" long
Welcome to the world, baby Katie!
