[As I usually do with very important occasions or events in my life, I'm writing this entry for me. It'll be more detailed than most people would care to read. But that's because I'm writing it for my own memory's sake instead of entertainment.]

The drive to the hospital seemed longer than usual. We weren’t tense, exactly… Or maybe we were. There was some drizzle as we drove, and we both marvelled at how quiet I-270 was at 1:30a. Nothing seemed real.

We arrived at the hospital at 1:45a, and were told that they were still backed up. We ended up in Labor and Delivery Room 8. I changed into my gown, and we curled up in a small hospital bed and took a nap. Or, I should say, we tried to sleep. I think we were both getting tired by that point, but anticipation is a real killer.

Around 3:30a our nurse came in to get everything started. My vital signs were taken for the first of a hundred times, and then she tried for an IV. I wish I could say “I received an IV” but my veins don’t allow for that. She poked and poked and poked around, and gave up. Another nurse came in and took another area. After her poking I was starting to feel very nauseous. A third nurse came in and rammed the needle into my left arm, pulling no punches, and I had to request something to throw up into, because I was pretty much done. I was sweating and wishing the whole thing would stop. This nurse gave up as I had my head in a little pink washtub.

They left me alone long enough to pull myself together, and a fourth nurse came in. She joked that they always called her when everyone else had given up. I told her she’d better know what she’s doing, because otherwise I was getting up and leaving the hospital. Miraculously, she got the needle in with a minimum of fuss (and no puking on my part).

My original nurse came back in and performed an internal exam. Look at me! Four centimeters dilated. Hooray! We discussed an epidural and decided we’d do one when the contractions were a bit much to take. Off she went, and there we sat. Bored, actually. The process started at 4:44a.

We watched a little television and talked for a while. The contractions were getting a little icky - two minutes apart and hard. Around 7:30a there were visits from both my doctor and my nurse, as everyone tried to gain a feel for how things were going. I was 5cm dilated by this time, and the contractions were starting to cramp up my back - that’s where it hurts. I decided I was no martyr and it seemed like a good time for an epidural. My nurse prepped me for that, and said the anesthesiologist should be in right at 8:30a. Sounded fine to me.

The anesthesiologist was a jokester. I knew he was a pro - the nurse told me he had over 20 years’ experience - but he liked to joke to relieve tension. I’d done this before, with Justin, so I wasn’t as afraid of it this time around. All you have to do is arch your back and hold still. The nurse helped me out with this one by holding my head on her shoulder so I couldn’t jolt anywhere even if I’d wanted to.

I was feeling slightly nauseous by the time he got the local anesthetic in me (because that shot sucks) but after that it was the same old same old. I thought.

Once the anesthesiologist asked, “How does that feel?” I realized I needed the pink wash basin again, and asked Stephen to grab it. I felt like a wet blanket was coming down over my head, and I was so hot, sweating and feeling dizzy. I closed my eyes and vaguely realized the joking had stopped in the room. Lots of things were going on around me, but I wasn’t focused on it. It sounded like an episode of ER, with the nurse reading off my blood pressure. “Ninety-four over sixty.” “Seventy-six over fifty-five.” The last one I heard before I heard Stephen’s voice was “Sixty-four over forty-eight.”

I’ve decided that certain moments can give definition to the idea of “true love.” This was one of them. I had my eyes closed and was pretty discombobulated when I heard Stephen’s voice next to my head. “You’re okay, baby. You’re doing just fine.” He gently pushed the hair away from my face and kept a hand on me when they ripped the oxygen mask over my head. I stopped listening to the anesthesiologist and the nurse and the bustling and the orders flying around me - I just listened to Stephen. Because I knew that Stephen wasn’t going to lie to me. I knew he’d tell me what was really going on, and if it was bad, he’d tell me that too.

After two shots of ephedrine, much oxygen, the ceiling fan on high, a two-hour nap and I was feeling much better. My parents arrived with Justin around 11:30a. Justin was a little wary at first, since mom was in a hospital bed and probably looked a little worse for the wear. He was a trooper, though, and came over and gave me a kiss.

After the parents visited for a little bit, the Dekens showed up and I got them to take Stephen to the cafeteria for lunch. Until that point he hadn’t left my side, and wasn’t going to eat because I couldn’t. His family promised to feed him and with everyone gone, the nurse came in for another internal exam.

And woo - another nap!

Everyone wandered back from lunch and the nurse informed us that I was dilated to 10cm and could begin pushing at any point. I was shocked, frankly. With Justin, the need to push was so overwhelming that I couldn’t stop it. This time, I didn’t feel anything like this.

They called my doctor, whose office is on the floor above the labor and delivery area of the hospital. The doc said to go ahead and start pushing and she’d be down. When we told Justin that as soon as everyone left we’d start pushing for the baby to come, he herded everyone out of there with a vengeance. It was cute.

I was pretty nervous at this point. I was amazed that everything was “ready to go” in only - what? - 9 hours? The nurse put up the stirrups and suddenly we were off.

The baby was coming so quickly that the nurse actually had to pull my feet from the stirrups and hold my legs til the doctor got there. It didn’t take a lot to get this baby out - the doctor arrived at 2:26p and the baby arrived at 2:54p. This time, I didn’t keep my eyes closed. This time I reached down and felt the baby crowning. Stephen was counting to ten through each contraction for me and taking pictures of Ryan coming out at the same time.

The first thing the doctor said when Ryan’s head came out was “look at those cheeks!” One last push and Ryan made his appearance after 38 weeks of wiggling and kicking and punching and hiccuping. I was amazed at how gooey he looked - I swear, I just don’t remember the ten seconds I got to see Justin before he was taken to the NICU.

Because of my stupid anti-depressant meds, specialists from the pediatric department were on hand to check him out. Stephen was bouncing around from me to the baby - cutting the cord, holding my hand, taking pictures of Ryan being weighed and cleaned up. Of course, I had to finish up delivering the placenta and waiting while the doctor took care of the cord blood that we were donating.

But then, I got to hold my son.

Things calmed down after that. We had Justin come in to meet his baby brother first - after all, I think he was the most excited about Ryan (outside of Stephen and myself). About half an hour after that, we had the rest of the family come in and see him. Everyone got a chance to hold him, and then they all cleared out.

Ryan went to the nursery to be cleaned up, and the nurse stuck around with me, taking vitals and making sure I could handle things, like peeing. Unfortunately, it was a problem for me after Justin’s birth, and this time was no better. (I hate catheters, by the way.)

Around 6p I was moved to another room and they brought Ryan back to us. More family members visited, including my brother and sister-in-law-to-be, who brought flowers and a big stuffed duck. (I mention this because I slept with this duck for the entire two days I was in the hospital.) By the end of the evening I was miserable, because I still couldn’t pee. I was desperate but couldn’t figure out what to do. Unfortunately the floor had just experienced a shift change and I had a new nurse, who wasn’t very sympathetic to my plight.

After trying a shower, a bedpan, and everything else, I basically demanded another catheter. The nurse wasn’t happy about it, and frankly neither was I, but I knew I’d explode if I didn’t have one. (It’s this kind of thing that mothers-to-be should know about. Postpartum is not an easy time for the mom - and not just because of the baby.)

It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to get a straight catheter without any pain meds. I nearly ripped Stephen’s hand off his arm to get it. But - shock and surprise - it’s a really good thing we did the catheter. Afterwards the nurse said I had until 4am to pee on my own, or I’d have to have a foley cath, which would have to be in for 24 hours, and then out for the same, blah blah blah, and I’d end up in the hospital longer. I sucked down the ibuprofen and prayed the swelling would go down quickly!

At 10p we took Ryan back down to the nursery, and I got several hours of uninterrupted sleep - my first in at least nine months. It was bliss. But nothing beats holding my new son. He’s amazing.

Happy,
michelle