Well, it was a whirlwind day yesterday. When we arrived at the hospital around 6:30 A.M., K was having contractions. Well, at least that's what the monitor said, because she couldn't feel them. That state of grace would not last long.
The most insidious sound in the world, by the way, is a baby's heart monitor. Once you've been hearing it all day, it continues in every sound. I could have sworn I heard it at home last night in the fan, the crickets, even the dog's snores. But I get ahead of myself.
K was on the monitor continually since she was being induced. Pitocin (a labor-helping drug) was dripping in through her IV, and the labor was reasonably uncomfortable--about the level of bad mestrual cramps (so I'm told). This continued through 4:30 or so. We had gotten through most of it with the Robert Redford movie "The Candidate" on American Movie Classics, and if that isn't a bizzare endorsement, I don't know what is. ("Two Thumbs Up!" "A great American film!" "Put me in tremendous pain every two minutes!") Anyway, when they examined her at 4:30, she was at 3 centimeters, and she asked for an epidural.
"Are you sure?" asked the OB/GYN. "It's kind of early. We could give you regular pain relief."
"You gave me that with D," said K, "and it was like an acid trip."
"Mmmm, let's do the epidural." I think K was secretly disappointed.
I was settling into the coach's role by this point--figuring, OK, it took her this long to get to 3 cm, guess I'll go downstairs and get a soda, since the epidural will just slow things down, and, hmm, K's screaming that she wants to push, maybe I should ring the nurse? It took an hour to get from 3 centimeters to seven, and then fifteen minutes to get from seven to full dilation. BAM! Since it was "so early," they had put a very low dose on the epidural, figuring they'd have time later. They never got the chance, and K had as close to a natural childbirth as she ever wanted to get. She was fantastic.
She pushed for less than fifteen minutes, and out popped E--purple from head to toe. But she had a lusty cry from moment one, and was quite healthy despite her color. She had smashed through the birth canal so quickly that she was bruised all over. And once she was cleaned up a bit, she latched on for nursing like she had been practicing for years.
It was wonderful... I didn't cry like I did when D was born, but I think that was just because I never got the chance to work up a head of steam. It was crazy. The nurse had to run and get the OB, saying "This baby's coming!" (Our nurse was excellent, by the way. With D, we had three nurses, but E managed to be born within one shift, which was really nice. Now we know exactly to whom we'll address the thank-you card.)
After that, they moved E to the nursery to get her cleaned up and moved K upstairs to a private (thanks to our nurse again) room. It took a long time, too long really, before she was back with us. A hell of a lot of babies had been born right at shift change, apparently.
It was a joyous time, but I was reminded that it isn't always so. On my trips to and from the ice machine (K was only allowed to eat ice chips, and boy, did she), I had noticed a middle-aged woman outside another delivery room, looking worried. When K and I were moving out after the birth, someone--I'm not sure who, maybe a nurse, maybe a family member--gave her bad news. I don't know what it was, but it reduced her to tears and sent her to the floor. This morning, as I came back the first time, she was leaving the hospital chapel.
We were very lucky.
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