Baby Toddler

I know I have blogged in like for-ever.  Life gets busy.  I have like thirty blogs in my head ready to write, but then I come home and have 65 papers to grade.  Work comes before play...so the blog gets the back burner.  

I finally gave birth to the toddler.  I say toddler because he was 10 pounds, 6 ounces.  I knew he was big, but that big?  

My mom came in town to be there for the birth because that is just who she is.  The Chief said all along, that I better get a birth partner because he wants nothing to do with that part.  I didn’t argue it, because he was clear from the beginning.  He would support my decision to be a surrogate, but he didn’t want to have anything to do with the birth.  I didn’t challenge that.  

So, I talked my doctor into inducing labor on the 1st of January, even though the baby wasn’t due until the 6th.  I had already had two sonograms that confirmed we were dealing with a massive baby.  I was terrified that I would have to have a c-section.  I had a c-section with the first surrogacy (twins), and it was a horribly painful recovery.  I remember it being the worst pain I have ever endured.  So I knew I didn’t want to go through that again.  With the second surrogacy, also twins, I was able to have them the way God intended.  So I assumed this last surrogacy would be the easiest of all, because it was only one baby.  One. Very. Large. Baby.  I thought inducing early would prevent me from pushing a ten pound baby through my vagigi.  I figure at most, nine pounds.  

So mom and I show up at the hospital at eight in the morning.  I was all showered, shaved, toenails painted, and ready to go.  They stab me with the three inch straw that they call an IV, and we are ready to go.  The doctor comes in about 10ish to break my water, and the party gets rockin’.  The contractions start in, and the pain starts.  I ask for the epidural about 12ish.  At about one, I notice that I can’t feel my legs, or my stomach, or my chest.  The nurse is in checking the monitors and I let her know.  She grabs a wet cloth and touches it to my thighs, “Feel this?”  Then moves up a couple inches and asks the same thing.  By the time she gets to my chest she decides it is time to call in the anesthesiologist.  

Ten minutes later, the anesthesiologist informs me that this hasn’t happened to her in over eight years...like that is supposed to make me feel better.  Apparently she gave me a spinal instead of an epidural. The difference?  An epidural numbs you from the waist down, but you are still able to move your legs and feel some pressure.  With a spinal, you could throw me off a two story building and the only thing I would feel is my face bouncing off the concrete.  Awesome visual right?  So they stop the drip all together in fear that when it’s time to push, I won’t be able to because I won’t feel anything.  

Three hours later I am starting to feel again.  They call the anesthesiologist back in.  She decides she is going to stay and give me tiny droplets at a time so that it doesn’t numb me all the way again.  This would be great except she isn’t doing it fast enough.  The contractions are coming every two minutes and the pain is almost unbearable. 

*Side note: The Chief, who said he wanted no part of the birth, showed up at the hospital about an hour after my mom and I got there.  His reasoning?  He just thought he would hang out for a while.  So he sat quietly in the corner during all this drama with his ipad.  I have to say, it was wonderful having him there up until this point.  I hated him seeing me crying in pain.  I want to be strong for him, and I felt so weak and helpless.  

Back to the pain-holy hell.  You might as well have been stabbing me in the gut with needle-nosed pliers.  It probably would have hurt less than the contractions.  I was so afraid the couple, who were waiting in the room next to us, would hear me screaming in pain.  Each time a contraction came I turned my face into the pillow and screamed my head off.  Can I just say that when they portray birth on TV, I always laugh and turn to the Chief and say, “That is NOT how it is in real life.  Women don’t scream like that.”  OMG, I was that idiot woman on the television!!  

An hour after screaming in the pillow, the doctor shows up.  He checks me and says I am almost there.  I close my eyes and imagine punching him in the teeth-the only way I can get through him being in the room with his smiley face.  He tells me that they are going to turn my body in different ways in an attempt to move the toddler down further so I can push.  He says, “An hour of changing positions, then an hour of pushing.  After pushing for an hour, if the toddler doesn’t move down we will have to take you in for a c-section.”  

So an hour of repositioning goes by with contractions every two minutes.  I am still feeling every one of them, and the pain is only getting worse.  After an hour of repositioning, I turn to my mom and say the dreaded words, “I can’t do this anymore.  I want a c-section.  I don’t think I can physically survive three more contractions. Please.  I want a c-section.”  

Being the mother she is, she tells me I am almost there and that I can do this.  She tries to convince me that he is moving down and I am getting ready to push.  She reminds me how much I don’t want the c-section.  She convinces me to push for the hour, and then let the doctor make the call.

I then turn to my fabulous nurse and start, “I want a c-section, call the doctor.  I am done with this.  I don’t have the strength to continue on.  Please.  Call the doctor.”  

The nurse looks at my mom, who shakes her head no, and  follows the same speech my mom just gave me.  At this point I am convinced they are conspiring against me.  They want me to die.  They are tired of listening to me, and they want me to suffer.  I am a horrible person and this is paybacks...kharma.  All the hell I put my mother through as a teenager is coming back to bite me in the ass.  But I can’t figure out what I did to the nurse.  Why does she hate me so much?  Did I call her a horrible name when I was busy cursing into the pillow?  Did my mom pay her off?  What the hell was going on here?  Trying to be as sneaky as I can, I look at my husband, who is sitting quietly in the corner completely focused on the ipad.  I call his name.  He looks up.  I give him the finger wiggle and he gets up and heads over to me.  Not caring that my mom is standing there, and the nurse is standing there, I say to him, “I need you like I have never needed you before.  I want a c-section.  I can’t do this anymore.  Mom isn’t listening to me.  Cody (the nurse) isn’t listening to me.  I can’t do this.  Please tell my mom to tell the nurse to tell the doctor to get his skinny smiley ass in here and cut me open and take this baby elephant out of me.  NOW.”  

My sweet husband, the adorable Chief, looks at me with adoring eyes and says, “I don’t think you have reached your thresh hold of pain yet.”  I close my eyes and imagine stabbing him in the eye with a catheter.      

So the pushing begins.  I get in the position, and the Chief runs out through the side door to join the couple in the safe room.  I start pushing.  Ten minutes in, I start the begging again.  The pain is so unbearable.  In my mind, I know I will not survive this birth.  I am going to leave my own child motherless.  There is no way I can do this anymore.  I beg my mom, who just shakes her head and pats me on the leg.  Then I beg the nurse, who looks at my mom and simply turns away.  She doesn’t even have the balls to look me in the face and tell me no.  She just simply acts like she can’t hear me.  I am convinced that neither of them can hear me.  I hear me, but they can’t.  My mouth is moving, but nothing is coming out.  I am on my own.  I am on my own to die.  Thirty minutes later (twenty minutes before my hour is up), I turn to the nurse and say in my most threatening voice, “Call the doctor right now.  I am done.  I want a c-section.  Don’t you dare look at my mother.  I am 31 years old, and I am telling you to get the doctor on the phone right now.  NOW.“  In fear of losing her life, she reaches for the phone.

Five minutes later, the doctor comes in all happy and smiley.  You know what he has the guts to say?  “Your time isn’t up yet!  You have twenty more minutes of pushing!!”

“Are you shitting me right now? Come a little closer doc and I will show you pushing!”

He comes to the bed and checks me.  “Yeah, he isn’t moving down, we are going to have to take you in for a c-section.”

“Ya think?  Haven’t I been saying that for the last hour, ladies?”  

“I commend you for trying,” he says sweetly, “but this is the end.”

About 45 minutes later the toddler is yanked from my body.  They allowed everyone to be in the room.  The Chief was positioned at my head next to my mom, and the mom and dad were standing off to the side.  Everyone got to see it.  The horrible birthing experience ended with tears on all sides.  Every second of pain was worth seeing that mom and dad stand over their little baby and talk to him with tears rolling down their faces.  Their day had been made, and my pain magically disappeared.  

So. Worth. It.